


Working A Certain Angle

by StarsGarters



Series: MCU AUs [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Belts, Blood, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs in a Car, Bondage, Boot Worship, Bruises, Butt Plugs, Cock Warming, Collars, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Digital Art, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Explicit Consent, Facials, Figging, Flogging, Fluff and Angst, HYDRA Trash Party, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knifeplay, Knives, Lingerie, M/M, Masochism, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Painplay, Pantyhose, Past Sexual Assault, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Rough Sex, Rough Trade, Roughness, Sadism, Spanking, Throat Fucking, Throat fucking is not a medically recommended treatment for asthma, Wedding Planning, Wigs, not a woobie Rumlow, rumlow is not a good person, sex on camera, what is a happy ending after all anyway?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 43,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prostitute/client AU - with one twist - Rumlow's the prostitute.</p><p>Warning, use of occasional slurs that may be offensive to sex workers. If you don't enjoy manipulative, sadistic Rumlow, this is not your fic. </p><p>Updated New Art by the amazing takhesiz.tumblr.com who continues to blow me away with their awesomeness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Работая под правильным углом](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211693) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



"And a club soda with lemon for the gentleman." He doesn’t drink when he’s working, dulls the senses, makes him careless. He’s put too much time into his appearance to get all sloppy. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirrored chrome, yeah he looks sharp. Now, he just has to wait.

The text specified that they were to meet here and the money was well worth his time. The client must have seen him here before, this was his old haunt before the internet made everything so much tidier. It was easy to pick up bored lonely business men on the down low. Well, it had been  easy before he got older. Even though it bruised his considerable ego, he had to work a certain angle. But that didn’t mean he had to talk about it. 

The working girls didn’t care that he’d taken up residence in the hotel bar with them. Not after he he took care of that nasty piece of work that was mugging them on their way home, stealing their hard-earned money and messing up their faces. He was their guardian angel now.

Sure, let them believe that he did it out of the goodness of his heart. That seemed more heroic than finally having a fantastic excuse to beat the living shit out of someone. That felt  _so good_. Brock touched his bruised knuckles lightly. They had to use a pressure washer to get the asshole’s blood out of the alleyway masonry because Brock also carried a switchblade.

"Where’d you get to be so good with a knife, Brockie?" Vicki patted his hand fondly. Her best years were also behind her, but she wasn’t quitting without a fight and a few pounds of makeup, hairspray and spandex. Brock basically lived at his gym trying to fend off the years. The idea of a desk job made him want to hurl.

"Uncle Sam trained me well." Honorable discharge, my ass, Brock thought bitterly. Sure,  _now_  they’re okay with gays.

"God bless America!" Vicki tilted her glass. "The girls and I, we put together some money for you. As thanks. We’d love to have you stick around Brockie. Maybe you could help out us freelancers, you know, be our protection."

"I’m not into pimping anyone but myself, Vicks."

"Oh, we’d just need you as muscle and eye-candy Brockie. We’ve got the other shit covered. Think about it." She smiled with too white teeth and laughed. "You look damn good tonight, like an old-time movie star. The ones that oozed masculinity, not those weasely little teenagers. They had class. Real class. Did I ever tell you about the time that Chuck Carrington took me out in his convert—" 

Ah, there  _he_  was. It was easy to pick him out of the crowd, Rumlow used the mirror behind the bar to study his trick. Blonde, blue eyes. Tiny thing. Five foot if he was an inch. He looked younger than in his profile picture. Fragile and vulnerable,  _delicious_. 

Vicki stopped yammering and followed Brock’s eyes. “Oh Brock. Working the _daddy angle_ , are we?”  

"We’ve all gotta go with our strengths MILF-queen. Now, I’ve got a job to do." Brock patted his hair, smiled with all his teeth and swept forth towards the young man. "Steve! Steve! My man! Come on over and say hello to your Uncle Brock! I’m gonna show you  _such a good time_.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Just treat me like I'm your nephew from out of town. Need to talk about pain play details with you in person._ That's what the email had said, that's what Rumlow was looking forward to. It was hard to find a good paying victim. He didn't refer to them as subs or bottoms, because they were all victims, all looking to suffer. Sure, he'd never say that out loud, that'd frighten the fuck out of potential customers. He wasn't stupid or gauche.   

"You've got to visit more often Stevie, I'd almost forgotten just how handsome my favorite nephew is." The blush was nice, it rose up from the young man's neck and settled in his cheeks. Brock clapped him on the back without any real force but Steve still grimaced and flinched. " _Whoa_. Sorry man. Sometimes I don't know my own strength." Wouldn't do to scare off the trick before the fun started. And Rumlow _was_ looking forward to this one, what could you say? He was a professional. Ultimately it didn't matter if he was sucking dick or slitting throats, as long as he was the best at it.  

"Oh, _you_ didn't hurt me. I-" Blue eyes looked up at Brock, "I suppose you'll see  _later._ " For such a little guy, there was a lot of steel in that gaze. Bit scrawny for a twink. Brock was intrigued. "So,  _Uncle Brock_ , do you want to come up to my room?" Ah, there it was, the direct approach. Brock appreciated that. 

Brock stepped close to his client, closer than any real family member would. He grazed the side of Steve's face with the back of his hand judging the moment, and caught his lower lip in his teeth when the small man leaned into the touch. "I'd love to,  _Sport._ "  _  
_

Vicki raised her glass and nodded sagely, her fingernails clicking on the bar top.  _Easy money_. 

Outside the hotel room door, Brock leaned against the door frame and watched Steve fumble with the key card. His fingers were shaking. It was cute. "Never can figure this out the first time." Steve apologized and Brock shrugged. 

"I'm in no hurry. You've got my full attention." He'd paid well for his pleasure. Big spender like that deserved some consideration. Maybe he'd leave a nice review.

Steve dropped the key card on the floor and Brock knelt down in a graceful stoop. He held the card between two fingers and very, very slowly stood up, raking his gaze up and holding those blue eyes for a few heartbeats. He whipped the card through the lock without looking and said with more than a hint of cockiness, "So, do I have  _your_ full attention?"

The lock whirred, the door swung open and Steve grabbed Rumlow's expensive silk tie, pulling the taller man down to his level, then into the room behind him. "I think we'll understand each other just fine."

"I need to ask you something, before we get started." Steve let go of Rumlow's creased tie and sat on the edge of the bed. Rumlow shut the door behind them. "Do you know how to hurt people?" 

A slow, sly predatory smirk spread over Rumlow's lips. "What kind of hurt are we talking here, Sport?" He sat in the armchair in front of the bed and rested his chin on steepled fingers. "Hurt for fun and games or hurt for _keeps_?" 

"Fun and games." Rumlow was a trifle disappointed, but it was ridiculous to think that this kid would want to hire him for a hit. "But, I can't... I can't have marks. No bruises or rope burns. They make him worry. And then we fight and I love him and I can't, I can't make him worry about me."

"Ah, your boyfriend doesn't do the rough stuff?" Steve nodded. Rumlow resisted the urge to snort. If the kid's boyfriend really cared, then he'd learn how to indulge those secret cravings. But that's how Rumlow made his bread and butter, denial and shame. No one would pay a whore for something they could get at home. 

"He doesn't want to hurt me. He's protected me so many times, ever since we were kids. Bullies tended to gravitate towards me, being made the way I am. Bones like a bird. On more medications than I can count."

And _predators_ too, I bet, Rumlow thought. "But you  _crave_ it, don't you? You wouldn't be seeking out strangers-- I mean _professionals_ if you didn't." 

"I never run away from a fight." A bitter laugh, "Something about the way pain focuses my mind, takes away the grayness and ups the clarity..." 

A slight nod of his head and Rumlow leaned closer, still sitting in the chair. "Pain brings order." Inflicting pain brought control and Rumlow's dick twitched at that thought. 

The relief on the little guy's face softened his features, all the unconsciously held tension and stiffness ebbed away. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and turned to show off the motley patches of blue, purple and sickly green dotting his back. "I wish I'd found you sooner. I chose the wrong service provider last time." 

Rumlow hissed in his breath through his teeth and quickly sat beside Steve. "Fucking _amateur_. Who did this to you?" Dextrous fingers touched hot skin, still burning with shame and anticipation. Rumlow touched the fist sized contusion on Steve's shoulder blade, he didn't miss the way the wounded man's breath hitched, so he did it again. Gooseflesh prickled and Steve shivered.

"Doesn't matter. I paid for the pleasure." 

"Yeah, but you had better not have tipped him. This is _sloppy_ work. Now if you want to hurt someone without leaving marks, that takes finesse. Skill." Rumlow ran his fingers over the bruises, the tips pressed ever so harder on the centers, but only enough to twinge, to spark. They hadn't negotiated the scene yet and Rumlow wasn't eager to be brought up on charges. 

"Like you learned on the STRIKE commando squad?" Steve leaned back against Rumlow.

"I neither confirm nor deny. How did you know about my service record?" How much do you know about me, Stevie? Did you know about Laos? About the bodies buried in concrete on Staten Island? His neck was so dainty, Rumlow could wrap one strong hand about it and throttle the life out of him with barely a whimper.  

"I work for the State Department. Saw a review for your services that had the headline, "So Do You Want to Fuck a Badass?" and it didn't take a lot of effort to do some research." Ah yes, Mario's review. Probably the best one he'd ever gotten. "I saw your stats. Watched a few videos. Made an email with your contact information and photo to be sent out automatically, just in case I don't show up for work on Monday." Smart kid. "You were the best." 

"I _still_ am. Now get on over here and help your Uncle Brock with his boots. Only heathens wear shoes on the bed." Rumlow leaned back on the bed. "What's your safe word Stevie?"

" _Brooklyn_." 

"Alright then. Are you okay with breath play?" A nod.  "Seeing stars?" A grin and a nod. "Maybe the sublime pleasures that come from being stretched out on thick ruthless fingers?" Steve swallowed, nodded and sank to his knees to untie the laces on Rumlow's shiny boots.    

"Has your boyfriend seen these bruises?" Rumlow worried the nape of Steve's neck with his hand and enjoyed the warmth of a willing client against his suited legs. 

"Yes. I told him I fell." One boot carefully set by the door. Then the other. 

Rumlow laughed harshly, "What, down the Empire State Building's staircase? But, good. That means that I won't make any new marks, but I can sure play with the ones you do have, Sport. Now _strip_. I want to see everything I have to work with." Rumlow watched Steve take off his clothing, folding it and placing it on the bureau, until he was naked. Naked and excited. _Oh good boy_ , Rumlow thought and pulled out a pouch of lubricant from his pocket.

Brock stood behind Steve and kneaded the bruises with one cruel probing hand, while stroking Steve's cock with the other lube slicked palm. Steve sagged against him and moaned blissful nonsense epithets, groaning at the pain and wincing at the pleasure. "That's right, just let old Uncle Brock take care of your needs. I know what makes you tick, what makes your cock get hard. Such pretty skin, thick cock. Let me show you a whole new world." Steve keened softly, and clutched at Rumlow's suit jacket. Rumlow couldn't help himself and bit carefully upon a blackened spot on Steve's bird-like shoulder, worrying the skin with his teeth hard enough to make Steve gasp and shudder through an orgasm, splatters of semen dotted the bedspread.

Steve sank to his knees and Rumlow stood in front of him, then knelt down. He held up Steve's chin with one lube-sticky hand, wiping the tears off Steve's face with the other. "That was _amazing._ " Steve panted, eyes wide with desire.   

"That's why I called that other dude an amateur. If you want to inflict pain upon someone, you have to mix it with pleasure to sweeten the edge. The sharper the edge, the more wicked the slice." 

"Does it give you pleasure to hurt someone? To hurt _me_?" The hope in Steve's voice made Rumlow's gut clench.

"Well, why don't you feel for yourself?" Steve reached out a trembling hand and felt the hard length of Rumlow's impressive erection through his suit pants. "Now, now. That's an extra fee, sweetheart." 

"I'll get my wallet. _Uncle Brock_."  Oh yes, the direct approach again. He grinned. _Delightful_.

\---

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Back again Brockie? Got yourself a regular?" Vicki smiled at Brock and tapped her toe against the brass foot rail of the bar. It had been about a week since the last time Brock was there. Brock checked out his reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles. Flawless as always in his bespoke dark grey suit and sky-blue shirt. His hazel eyes danced with the promise of mischief.

"God I hope so Vicki, haven't had this much fun in ages." He smiled like a piranha, all teeth and hunger. That last encounter had awoken the deeply repressed beast within him, the part of him that fed on violence and control. His sessions in the gym had been more frequent, all that extra energy that he had to dispose of now.  

"That's not a pretty smile, Brockie, but if it makes you happy. Who am I to judge?" Vicki patted his hand conspiratorially. "Any job that doesn't involve diapers is a good one in my opinion." She laughed with the jaded expression of a woman who truly had seen it all.

"That's what I like about you Vicki, you're a classy lady who knows the value of discretion." Ah, there he was. Mr. Rogers. Stevie. His new favorite plaything. Those blue eyes could look right through a man's soul. That stupid boyfriend of his didn't understand what a gem he had. So physically brittle and yet so determined. 

"Oh please. Keep that charm to yourself. And be careful, he looks like you might break him if you sneeze too hard."

He's a lot tougher than he looks, surprisingly. Finding out the limits of that strength... now that's where the fun was. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's play time." Brock practically bounced off his barstool, walking on the balls of his feet like he was entering a boxing ring to spar. He swept Steve under his arm and playfully chucked his client on the chin. "Stevie! Looking sharp, Sport! Did you grow a few inches at school?" Brock spoke a bit too loud for the benefit of the tourists around them. Nothing to see here, nothing to see here. 

"Thanks, _Uncle Brock_. Nope, still the same." Steve looked up at him through his long blonde eyelashes and smiled. They walked out of the bar into the hallway towards a room, Brock's arm still possessively draped over the little man's shoulders.  

"Ready for an encore, my boy?" Brock smirked as he unlocked the door with an efficient swipe. He stood to the side and let Steve decide if he was going to enter or not. 

" _So_  ready. I've been thinking about this all week. During boring briefings and bad tv shows. Haven't beaten off so much since I was a teenager and discovered the men's fitness magazines at the bookstore." Steve laughed, a sweet sound and then the door shut behind them. Once the door was locked, they assumed their negotiated roles. 

"Safe word?" Rumlow imperiously demanded.

"Brooklyn." 

"Strip!" Short curt orders barked just short of a drill sarge's tone. He enjoyed the show as Steve flushed red and removed his clothing slowly, folding each piece. His shoes were set near the door. 

"Turn!" Rumlow wasn't moving, he was giving the orders. "Show me your back." The tapestry of red, black and purple bruises had faded into sickly shades of green and yellow. Not as fresh, but still quite beautiful to his eyes. Rumlow dragged his buffed and clipped nails down Steve's skin, not hard enough to mark, just enough to make an impression. " _Kneel_."

"All these pretty bruises are healing up, that's a damn shame. I liked them, like a story written in your skin." Rumlow took the opportunity to rub his hands over Steve's shoulders and pull him up. "Stand."

"No marks. I can't have Bucky worry." The guilt and shame in those blue eyes caused Rumlow to lick his lips. What he wouldn't give to  _wreck_ this boy. Well, he was a patient man and he might as well get paid for his pleasure. Drag these encounters out for the long haul.

"Bucky? Is that a man's name or a squirrel's?" He didn't hide the derision in his voice. This Bucky was a _fool_. The name did sound familiar for some reason, though.  

Steve couldn't answer as Rumlow had his thick fingers in Steve's mouth, coating them in slippery spit while stretching his rosy lips. Steve's hard cock started to glisten with pre-cum and Steve gripped his own thighs with white knuckled fingers. "Yes, such a sweet mouth. You won't be able to use your safe word, so you'll have to slap my leg twice." Rumlow forced Steve to his knees with his fingers still deep in Steve's mouth. "Show me the signal. There you go." He cooed.

"Kneel. Right there on the soft carpet, yes." Save those bony kneecaps.

Rumlow purred with implied menace and possessiveness, "Such a _good_ boy. Now, undo my zipper and find my cock. Careful." He pulled his fingers out of Steve's mouth and wiped the saliva down one side of Steve's face, then the other. 

"You're not going to take your pants off?" Nimble little fingers slipped Rumlow's erection out of his fly, he'd gone commando in anticipation of this moment.  

"Oh no. And you're not going to get a single spot on my slacks, are you _my_ _pet_?" Rumlow gripped Steve's hair with a firm fist. "Open your fucking beautiful mouth my lad." Steve let his mouth fall open and Rumlow guided his head, slipping inside that warm wetness. Rumlow controlled the speed and the depth with his fist full of hair, but Steve's wicked tongue beat a tattoo upon Rumlow's cock that made the older man groan with desire. "You nasty little boy. Such a cock-sucker's mouth. Trying to make me come, are you?" He grinned with white teeth and pulled Steve's head back, releasing his cock with a sloppy wet pop.

"Now, I'm going to make you see _stars_." Rumlow dragged a finger down the bridge of Steve's nose and then entwined both hands in his blonde hair. " _Open_." Steve's mouth fell slackly open, his face flushed red and he held his breath as Rumlow thrust deeply inside. Heartbeats later, he withdrew so Steve could catch his breath, but only for that moment, then he thrust roughly back in. Over and over, until Rumlow could barely withstand the pleasure and he knew those tear-filled blue eyes that stared up at him would be his undoing, "You're so strong, my boy, so strong. Look how much you can take. Grab your cock, come for me. Come for _me,_  my sweet boy." 

Steve whimpered around his mouthful of cock and tugged upon his swollen hardness, almost instantly shooting his seed against his own chest. Rumlow felt the orgasmic shudders and shivers as if they were his own. He pulled Steve's mouth off his cock, and shot his load all over Steve's ruddy lips. Rumlow rubbed a glob of thick semen into Steve's facial skin with a gentle thumb. "Stronger than you look kid," he panted. 

Steve didn't answer, he just leaned into Rumlow's touch and whimpered softly. "Something wrong?" Rumlow asked with a sudden surge of panic.

Steve snuffled a chuckle and whispered hoarsely, "I seem to have caught a touch of a cold or something. My throat," He swallowed thickly, "I'm sure it's not contagious." Rumlow tucked himself back in his pants and helped Steve onto the bed. He got a glass of water and a warm washcloth from the bathroom, handed the glass to Steve and then got on the bed himself. Steve slowly sipped the water and leaned against Rumlow's fully clothed side.

"Do you want me to leave?" Brock asked, unsure. Steve curled into his side and let him clean off his face and chest gently, he shook his head and finished the water. Brock set it on the bedside table.  

"Does the aftercare cost more?" His voice was harsh, but rapidly improving.

"Nah. I'm a professional and I take good care of my best clients." Rumlow ran his fingers through Steve's hair, affectionately petting the blonde strands.

"So I'm one of your best, huh? I haven't written you a review yet."

"That's okay."

"I just, I just don't want anyone else to know how _good_ you are. Then I might have to share." 

Rumlow laughed, hard and genuine. "You're a gem kid. A fucking gem." He kissed the top of Steve's head sweetly and just for a moment, he pretended that he wasn't a whore and that this wasn't just a trick. But _only_ for a moment. 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

"Yeah, that fucking sucks. You'd think I'd have scared the shit out of him last time, but what do you want me to do about it Vicks?" Brock Rumlow tucked his phone against his chin and shuffled through his mail. Mostly junk, a few bills and one surprise. 

He ran his fingers over the embossed envelope of the SHIELD Gala. Rollins must have kept him on the guest list. Every goddamn year. He supposed that it was meant to be a nice gesture, but it just felt like rubbing his nose in the fact that Brock was no longer on STRIKE. He'd never gone to any of the SHIELD gatherings. The urge to punch some of the higher-ups in the face and then stomp on their throats was still too strong. 

"Fine. Fine. I'll think about it. Okay?" He hung up the phone, that's what he got for being a _guardian angel_. Beating up the asshole, cutting him into ribbons, now that was _fun_. Disposing of a body was  _work_. Messy, nasty stuff with too many ways to get caught. That was one of the things Brock missed about the STRIKE force. The very efficient  _cleaners._   _  
_

He tossed the invite in the trash and checked his email before getting ready for his cam session. God bless the internet and all the woefully closeted men out there, suffering, longing to talk to him. But mostly, he blessed their credit cards. A notification pinged and Rumlow opened the email. 

It wasn't like his heart sped up when he saw the sender's address. He wasn't a stupid teen girl with a crush. Nah, he was a professional. He certainly didn't dream about those big blue eyes filled with tears. _Never_. He'd deny that to his dying day. 

 _Surprise me_. That was only the instruction in Steve's email. Oh you sweet innocent little boy, he thought.

You  _never_ said that to a man like Rumlow. He grinned at the freedom Steve gave him, at the implicit trust. You could destroy a man with that kind of  _carte blanc_. 

He dialed Vicki. "So, Vicks. I've got a proposition for you. I'll take care of your problem, for good, but I require your expert services. No not like  _that,_ you daft cow. No, I've got a hot date for a black tie gala..." Brock laughed, it wasn't a kind one. "Look, he said ' _Surprise me_.' I know, right?" Vicki's laugh was as loud as his was. He fished the invite out of the trash can.

"Of course I've got a tux. What am I? A savage? What I need is your entire makeup stash, one of your good lace-fronts and a dress fit for a princess..."

 _What size of shoe do you wear Stevie?_   Rumlow sent back a reply, tapping his fingers on the table top. After texting the information to Vicki, Rumlow sat down at his computer and typed in the name  _Bucky_ and the word _SHIELD_  . He rubbed his chin and leaned back in his chair, dark brows quirked. So _that_ was where he knew that name from.  _Interesting._  Maybe he'd be able to wreck something else at the gala as well. Then poor Steve might have to look for comfort more frequently, possibly at a discounted rate. 

 _Surprise me_. Well, he could certainly do that. 

\--

Not a hair out of place, Brock sat in his expertly tailored black tuxedo at his usual spot at the hotel bar. He didn't acknowledge the appreciative murmurings of the ladies around him, he was on point. As alert as he would have been on one of his clandestine missions. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the entrance. You better not bail on me kid, he thought. 

Relief washed over him when Steve entered and gave him a jaunty little wave. Rumlow discreetly sent a text to Vicki, then stood up and sauntered over to his client.

"Wow." Steve looked him up and down appreciatively. "You look _amazing_. Like a secret agent." He raised his hand to hesitantly touch Rumlow's lapel. Even after everything they'd shared, every filthy depravity that Rumlow had subjected Steve to, he wasn't running away. His visits had increased in frequency and length, to the point where Rumlow didn't have to take on any new clients. Sometimes he wondered where the money was coming from, it would have been tacky to ask and frankly if the kid bankrupted himself on Rumlow's services well... Brock could always arrange for a loan with interest, couldn't he?

Rumlow leaned down, whispered in Steve's ear, "What makes you think I wasn't? That's c _lassified_." He snuck a quick kiss into the soft hollow beneath Steve's earlobe. A deep red flush instantly rose, painting Steve's face a thrilling shade of scarlet. "You said to surprise you."

"Well, you did that! You're like all my old Hollywood fantasies come to life right now." Steve groaned, then looked around at all the faces who were watching them and then to Rumlow's bemusement, took the older man's hand and led him out of the bar. "I doubt that you'll stay in that tux for very long though."

Rumlow unlocked the hotel room door and before Steve could enter, placed his hand on his chest. "Before we continue, I need to know your safe word." 

"What? Out here?" Steve blinked in surprise and looked up and down the hallway.

"Yes, because once we enter that room, you are _mine_ to _surprise_ as I please. And if you can't hack this scene, then we probably won't have another. Do you understand?" That was laying it on rather thick, but Rumlow needed that extra bit of motivation to coerce Steve's compliance. Sure, it was manipulative and an asshole move, but Rumlow didn't care about that. 

Steve hesitated for a moment, then bit his lip as he looked Rumlow over. His curiosity and fear outweighed his apprehensive caution and he said, "Brooklyn."

"You never back down, do you sport?" His heart beat a rapid patter under Rumlow's palm. 

"Nope. Now are you going to let me in that room or what?" Steve squared his shoulders and his hands curled loosely into fists, he leaned against Rumlow's hand and stared him in the eyes.  _That's my boy._

Rumlow stood aside and gestured with a small bow and a wicked smirk. He shut the door behind them as Steve stood in nearly mute shock at the foot of the bed. Rumlow put his hand on Steve's shoulder until he sputtered out, "What the hell are... _these_?"

"Well, that would be a black lace brassiere. Those are matching panties. Pantyhose, sheer black with back-seams, of course. I thought that we'd skip the garters and hose tonight for simplicity's sake. Modest heels with ankle straps, size 9, thank you for so promptly responding to my text. And if I've answered all your oh so pressing questions," Rumlow's grip tightened uncomfortably, "You will now _strip_."

Steve hesitated, but without letting his gaze leave the lacy fripperies upon the hotel sheets, slowly removed his clothing. As if distracted, he did not neatly fold each item this time, they lay in a crumpled pile on the carpet.

"Have you ever worn pantyhose before?" Rumlow ran the silky nylon hose fabric through his fingers and over Steve's skin, winding it about his neck and trailing it down his chest. Steve shivered at the wispy ticklish sensations.

" _Never_." His voice was raspy.

"Then let me help you get it on. Can't have you putting a clumsy finger through it. That just won't do.  _Sit_." No hesitation. "Point your toes. There." Rumlow slid the hose up each leg, making sure that the seams were straight. "Now, this is gonna be _snug_." The extra strength spandex slid over Steve's ass and pressed against his swollen groin. "Now tuck that down, can't have a stray cock spoiling this pretty picture." 

"I should have shaved my legs." Steve muttered.

Rumlow shrugged and slapped his hands against the taut fabric with a smile. "Your ass looks fantastic. Now these." Panties dangled off of his fingertip like a gauzy cobweb.

"Don't these go under the tights?" Steve took the flimsy lace panties and stepped into them, pulling them slowly up over his legs. The black lace formed a triangle between his thighs, the sight made Rumlow's mouth go dry.

"I have my reasons. Now the bra." Rumlow crossed his arms and waited for Steve to fumble with the closure, but the younger man quickly clasped the bra band. He raised his eyebrows and smiled. 

"I am very sad that I don't have boobs now." Steve plucked at the deflated fabric cups and chuckled ruefully. "Poor flat chested Steve Rogers. You'll never find a man." He smiled sweetly at Rumlow.

"Oh look what I have here." Rumlow tucked a pair of falsies into the bra cups. "Silicone is so much better than wads of tissues or rolled up socks. They'll even warm up to body temp." 

"How do you know all of this?" Steve looked down at himself and squeezed his new breasts. "Okay, these are awesome. I'm a B cup!" He laughed, delightedly, then stepped into the heels. He lost his balance and fell against Brock. "Sorry. How do I walk in these? I feel... like a newborn baby giraffe!" His legs wobbled.

"Small steps. Most of your weight will be on the balls of your feet. Take my arm. Walk over to the mirror with me." Slowly Steve minced his way leaning on Brock for support. "Look at yourself. Look at how pretty you look. Such a pretty little thing. I'm so pleased." Small kisses against the side of Steve's neck, "But, I think we can do better." 

A knock at the door. Steve froze in Rumlow's arms, struggled and tried to bolt for the bathroom. He finally felt Brock's full strength, like steel bands holding him in place. He couldn't have run if he tried. "Stay there, don't move. Don't try to hide yourself. This is all part of the surprise, my pet." He stroked the side of Steve's face, "Remember, no marks, right?" Steve nodded and crossed his arms over his chest when Rumlow released him. His hands flitted from his bra to his panties as if he couldn't decide which shameful accessory to cover first. 

"Well, help me with this stuff Brock. Takes a lot of supplies to work magic." Vicki bustled into the room and set her many bags upon the dresser and on the floor. She looked at Steve and with the practiced grace of a professional, never let a smile touch her face. 

Brock stood behind Steve and ran the back of his hand down the side of Steve's face. Then he rested that hand around the base of Steve's throat, possessively. "Vicki, this is my pet." Rumlow nuzzled into Steve's hair and Vicki stifled an urge to roll her eyes. 

"Pleased to meetcha, I'm going to make you up like a fairy tale princess, like f'ing Cinderella. But I can't call you  _pet_ , how about Stella? Is that good?" Steve nodded, still flummoxed.

"Stella it is then. Always depending on the kindness of strangers, aren't you Stella? I saw that on Broadway. Come on over and sit down in this chair." Vicki walked up close, smelling of too much perfume and more than a few cigarettes. She stroked Steve's face and tweaked his nose playfully. "He's lovely, Brock. Babyfaced, wonderful. No stubble to worry about." She cracked her knuckles. "Now you stay out of the way, Brockie. Just go be pretty over there."

Vicki hummed under her breath as she primed, painted and plumped. "Close your eyes sweetie. Just like that." Lotions and potions, false lashes and foundation. Contouring to show off cheekbones dusted with the flush of youth. Steve pliantly leaned into her touch, obediently following her orders as Brock stood behind Vicki, his own cheeks a bit flushed and a triumphant grin pulling at his lips. 

"Now be gentle with this, it's lace-front so it is super delicate." Vicki carefully, expertly applied the blonde wig with a deft touch, setting the adhesive. "Oh sweetheart! You look gorgeous." She clasped her hands to her chest and fluttered them.

"Can I see?" Steve asked hopefully, he seemed to forget that he was wearing lingerie and sat gracefully on the bed.

"Not yet. Let's put on the dress." Brock picked up the garment bag and unzipped it. 

Midnight blue velvet speckled with a dusting of crystals from the bodice to the hem that looked like stardust, Steve gasped as Vicki showed it off. Vicki helped Steve step into the gown, then fastened it up the back. "Quarter-length sleeves to hide that armpit hair. Full skirt to swirl around and conceal any bulges. High collar hides what Adam's apple you happen to have, also looks super classy. A gal doesn't have to have her tits all hanging out to be desirable, am I right boys?" 

Both of the men looked at each other and laughed. "Oh _fine_. But even you guys can appreciate this gown. One of my neighbors works in the Garment District and they cut me a deal. Ain't nobody gonna look as lovely as you Stella." 

Steve looked down at his hands, "I bite my nails. Sorry."

"Now these are from me." Brock handed a slim red velvet box to Steve. "Opera length black leather gloves. I knew from experience how big your hands were. Pull them on." One glove, then the other, Steve flexed his fingers. 

Vicki fastened a pair of cuffs on his wrists. "The bracelets go over the gloves. Don't worry, they're not real, just real sparkly. Makes your wrists look tiny. But honestly, I didn't really have to work that hard on you. You're a stunner, Stella. I hope you really enjoy your evening." She looked a bit regretful for a moment, but then covered up with a cheerful grin, "Now don't forget that favor you agreed on, Brockie."  

"It's a shame no one else will see me like this." Steve stared in the mirror, unable to believe that it was him looking back. His blonde wig was upswept in a twist and studded with small rhinestone stars. 

Vicki tittered and left in a bustle of makeup cases and duffle bags. Brock handed Steve an evening bag. He licked his lips in anticipation of the evening's delights. 

"So your wallet, keys and phone go in this ridiculous little purse. And an extra lipstick. Because I'm pretty sure that first coat isn't staying on all night long," he leered. "I've got the prettiest little thing now. I have half a mind to try to fuck you in the taxi on the way there." 

"Wait, what?" Steve stammered. "You're not serious, are you?" Panic marred his painted features and he clutched his evening bag with both hands.

"Like a heart attack. I've already called the taxi, _Stella_. Move that cute little ass." 

 

 

 

 

  

 


	5. Chapter 5

It took a few minutes for Steve to get his balance, walk and not lose the red pashmina draped across his shoulders. He leaned into Brock, taking his gentlemanly offered arm. Every time he stumbled, Brock was right there, holding him bodily up so people didn't stare. "I look like I've had too many beers." Steve's hand fluttered up to check his wig. His pink painted lips begged to be kissed, but Rumlow restrained himself. Not yet.

"Nah. You look like you've had one too many _cosmos_." Rumlow chuckled. "I like what you're doing with your voice though. Higher, little bit breathy. Really like it." Rumlow tucked Steve under his arm and escorted his project to the foyer. _Eat your heart out, Henry Higgins._

"I'm not--" Steve protested, but then he knitted his artfully arched brows. "I guess I am changing it. Oh _god_. I sound like my first grade teacher, Ms. Shannon." 

"Hot for teacher were you?" Rumlow looked at Steve with predatory interest, under all that glitz and glam was his sweet little filthy pet. He was taking his pet out for walksies, parading him about for everyone to observe and admire. 

"No! I mean I did make her birthday cards, Valentine's cards, Christmas cards, Arbor Day cards..." The blush on Steve's cheeks wasn't all cosmetic artifice and powder, a few freckles peeped out as beauty marks.

"Arbor Day cards?" Rumlow asked.

"She really liked  _trees_." Steve laughed at his youthful crush. Rumlow opened the taxi door for Steve and he gingerly climbed inside.  "Where are we going?" He didn't have to say that he was nervous, his chest rose and fell rapidly. But his eyes were alight with mischief and daring, Brock swallowed hard and reminded himself that he was a _professional_. 

"Never you mind, my lovely." Rumlow reached over and held Steve's hand, rubbed a small circle against his leather-clad palm. "Trust your Uncle Brock, young lady." He leaned close and inhaled the sweet spicy perfume that Vicki had daubed on Steve's neck. "So beautiful, I hate to spoil you... but if I must, then I must."

"I was supposed to go to a party with my boyfriend this evening, but I made up an excuse..." Steve swallowed, guilt heavy in his voice.

"Because of me?" Brock snuck a kiss into the soft hollow behind Steve's ear, his breath hot and eager. 

"No-- well,   _yes._ I just don't like big work parties where you only know a few people, but if you fuck up then everyone in the entire department ends up hearing about it." Steve gripped his dainty evening bag tightly and sighed. Brock was not happy about not being the center of Steve's attention.

"What would they say about _this_?" Brock slid his other hand up Steve's leg, Steve's breath hitched and his wide blue eyes flickered at the driver's back. 

"So, cabbie, would you be terribly offended if I ordered this sweet little girl to take off her panties and give them to me, right now?" Brock nonchalantly asked the driver, Steve gulped as Rumlow slid his hand up under his skirt and tapped his fingers on Steve's compressed bulge. 

"I'd prefer you kept that kinky shit out of my cab, thanks. Here's your stop." Brock laughed a great bellow and paid the fare, helping Steve out of the cab with practiced elegance. Steve looked a bit bewildered and intriguingly, a little disappointed, until he saw the venue. 

"But-! But-!" Steve stammered as he looked at the venue steps. "This is the SHIELD gala! I was supposed to... with him!"

"Is it? Huh. Small world." Rumlow didn't even make an attempt at pretending to be innocent. "Shall we, Stella?" He offered Steve his arm, smiling with neat white teeth.  

"I know these people! They're going to know!" Steve hissed through his teeth. 

"I doubt your own mother would know you right now, but if you want to use your safeword... you _can_. I'll put you right back in that cab and you can go home. Your nice safe home where nothing too exciting or dangerous happens. You can lay in the dark, touching yourself and thinking about what other delightful surprises I had in store for you, but you were just too chickenshit to find out."

Brock shrugged and brushed an imaginary mote of dust from his immaculate tuxedo. "I would sure miss you as a client though, never had a chance to truss you up on my bed and have my way with you. Never brought out the electro-sex toys, such a nasty sting with no marks. The cock-cage. But if you want to back down and run away like a _coward_ , that's up to you." The longing on Steve's face as Brock casually ticked off various scenarios for debauchery made Rumlow's dick twitch.

"I _never_ run away from a fight." Steve set his jaw in a very unfeminine way and balled his gloved hand in a fist. "Let's do this." Steve took Rumlow's arm and they walked up the steps to the gala. 

Rumlow patted Steve's hand. "Good girl. Let's go have some fun." Sometimes, it was just too _easy_.  

\-- 

Rumlow surveyed the room. Bunches of bureaucrats clogged the areas in front of the appetizer tables and the bar had a line a half-mile long. The ignored band played a soothing melody, nothing too jarring, but the dance floor was mostly empty. Rumlow observed Steve who was looking at his feet, blushing. Well, Brock hadn't come to this fucking dog and pony show without reminding people that he was still breathing. He led Steve onto the dance floor. "Do you know how to dance, Stella?" 

"Not very well, and certainly not in heels!" He looked so innocent, so pure. Brock longed to defile him in so many ways. If only Steve could be  _his._

"Well I feel like dancing. There, just follow my lead, I've got you Stella. I've always got you." A few missteps looked charming and eventually they settled into a rhythm, swaying to the music. "See, that wasn't so hard." Rumlow pressed Steve up against him and dared a pivot, swinging his partner gracefully with him. 

"Speaking of hard," Steve whispered coyly. "You're like a rock." 

"That's the effect that showing off such a pretty girl has on me. There's not a man in here that wouldn't love to fuck that tight sweet pussy of yours Stella. Hell, I might even help them. Throw you up there over the edge of the bandstand, pull up that skirt and slice a hole right though those nylons. Then I'd lick you until your hole was so wet and tender, you'd beg me to let someone,  _anyone,_ fuck you."

Rumlow spoke in low, hungry tones that made Steve bite his pink lips and looked up at Rumlow through thick sooty eyelashes. "But, I don't think I could possibly share. You're too damn special and I don't want anyone to hurt you ever again, that is, _anyone_   _other than me."_   Rumlow leaned down and allowed Steve to make the choice of whether or not to kiss him. "I _understand_ you."

Steve parted his lips and so slowly it made Rumlow's heart fly up into his throat, placed his lips upon Rumlow's like a solemn promise. It didn't matter that they were surrounded by people on the dance floor, it felt like they were the only ones there. Rumlow swept Steve into a deep dip and as he brought his partner back up, they finally parted. Steve blinked as if in a daze and a smattering of applause broke out. One woman asked her husband why he didn't dance with  _her_ like that.

A low wolf-whistle ruined the moment and the whistler called out, "Brock? Brock Rumlow?" It was Rollins. Older, hair streaked with grey and quite a bit fatter, but still his former second-in-command. 

Rumlow held up a hand and firmly gestured for a moment's respite from his old friend. Rollins took the order like a well-trained dog. No surprise there.

Brock calmly spoke in Steve's ear, the young man was panting roughly, his cheeks flushed. "Go to the ladies room. In your handbag is a surprise. Put it in and come back to me. Ask one of the other girls in there for help with your bracelets if you need it. Now go!" He spanked Steve lightly on the ass and gave him a nudge towards the facilities. He watched as Steve took a peek inside his handbag and looked up in alarm. Rumlow raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, in response Steve walked much more quickly to the lavatory, his heels clicking confidently on the wood floor.

Rumlow smiled at Rollins who took the cue to walk over. "You look _good_ Brock. Damn good! Christ, I feel like a doughy old fuck next to you." 

"You look like hell Rollins. Command too hard on you? Or is it married life that's fucked you over?" 

Rollins clapped Rumlow on the shoulder, resisting the urge to strangle the shorter man in a drunken bear hug. "Tell me about it. Ten years of fucking wedded bliss. Been banging one of the gals in accounting for the last eight. I'm drinking Pepto like other bastards drink beer. It's been shitty without you. But I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Well, I keep getting these invitations and this time I was motivated." A edge of bitterness crept into his voice, sour and resentful.

"Showing off your arm candy? Jesus, Brock, what is she? _Nineteen_? You're like double her age, you lucky dog. And I thought you liked guys... Never mind. Sore subject, right?"

"Maybe she's got some serious daddy issues." Rumlow straightened his cufflinks and scanned the crowd, looking for someone. "Ever thought of hiring ex-commandos as consultants for these walking skin suits? Or are old fags still not welcome in the hallowed halls?"

"Oh come on Brock. You know it wasn't the gay thing that got you pushed out. That was just the excuse. Don't you remember Laos? Sometimes I still have trouble sleeping without a Xanax vodka cocktail after thinking about that operation." Rollins drained his glass and shuddered.

"Pussies. The lot of 'em. I did what I was ordered to do." Brock stared off into the crowd. He'd never lost any sleep over anything he was ordered to do. Why would he? It was what a soldier did and he was damn good at being a soldier. At least he still had his dignity. And his _hair_. Christ, Rollins looked like a cue-ball with a fringe. 

"Yeah, but you didn't have to _laugh_ while doing it, did you? There wasn't any need for the _finger-painting_ or the _creative_ mutilations. They were talking about bringing you up on war crime charges for fucks' sake, Brock. You should be grateful that all they did was call you a faggot and kick you out with your full benefits. I still want to know exactly what you held over them to get that sweet of a deal. On second thought, I _don't_ want to know. Do I?"

"Nope. Man, it's been such a pleasure to talk over old times with you Rollins. You look like you're living the dream." Rumlow huffed out a derisive breath. "But there's my date and she's such a sweet little thing to Old Uncle Brock, I hate to keep her waiting. Just look at her Rollins. Really take a gander at my creation. Isn't Stella beautiful? I dressed her myself."

Rollins sighed, "I hope you're good to her Brock. As good as _you_ can be." 

"You know I'm the fucking _best_ Rollins. The best at everything I do. And she'll be fucking begging for more, no matter how bad I am." Rumlow socked Rollins in the shoulder hard enough to bruise. "It's been great catching up, good to see you old man. We should meet up at the gym, go a few rounds." Rumlow looked past Rollins, finally sighting his secondary target. 

Rollins grunted and rubbed his shoulder, "I'm five years younger than you are, you smug fuck." 

Rumlow didn't respond to the barb, he only had eyes for the vision in blue velvet that was walking towards him with very, very careful steps. Such an obedient pet. He swept Steve into his arms and then very deliberately groped his ass with both hands, feeling the large plug nestled firmly between his cheeks. Steve gasped and Rumlow swallowed that gasp with his lips, showing off in the crassest fashion he could think of.

Yeah that's right you sanctimonious fuckers, you pretend to be all prim and proper when you're all a bunch of whores too. You cast me out and I won't let you forget about me. Remember what I know, remember what I did on your orders, Rumlow thought. Some of you won't be sleeping tonight. Just because you thought you'd got the better of me, that I wouldn't have the balls to call your bluff. Sweet dreams, motherfuckers. He smiled widely and Steve echoed his expression, sucked into the fantasy that Rumlow had concocted. 

"Steve?" A hesitant voice, quavering. 

Steve froze in Rumlow's arms and started shaking. It was so sweet, so delicious, the fear and distress.  

"Steve? Is that... _you_?" A young man with floppy brunette hair, a prosthetic arm and the most stricken expression ever etched upon a human face reached out to touch Steve's shoulder. 

Rumlow waited. Steve pushed back against his chest, out of his arms and looked up at his boyfriend, the war hero, James Buchanan Barnes.  

"Hey Bucky." Steve swallowed hard and spoke in his normal voice. "I think we need to talk. Brock, it was fun." The finality in Steve's voice crushed any hopes that Rumlow had for a happy ending. No matter how much pleasure, how much joy he could offer Steve, Rumlow was never going to be anything more than a hustler. A distraction. _Disposable_.

Everyone thought Rumlow was disposable. 

"No skin off my nose, Stella- I mean, Steve. Just be sure to leave me a good review. That would be _swell_ of you." Rumlow popped a mocking half salute at Bucky. "A pleasure, sir." Rumlow stalked off towards the exit, but turned and chose a vantage point to watch the confrontation out of earshot.

Steve spoke slowly and Bucky couldn't stop looking at him. Color bloomed in Steve's cheeks and he began animatedly gesticulating. Bucky still was silent. Steve threw up his gloved arms and Rumlow could read his lips, "Please. Just say something." Rumlow resisted the urge to tug at his swollen cock. Steve was so beautiful when he was in pain, an anguished angel. It had all been worth it, just to see this. Rumlow wasn't heartless, he just knew what he liked and no one suffered as exquisitely as Steve Rogers.

Then that bastard of a boyfriend ruined the whole tableau by getting down on one knee and... _no_. No, he wasn't. There was no fucking way.

The auditorium exploded with drunken applause for the impromptu proposal. Steve drew Bucky up from his knees, then kissed his boyfriend so hard that Rumlow's heart nearly exploded from sheer spiteful jealousy. He'd been so stupid and proud. Steve wasn't his pet, wasn't his toy after all.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _He's here!_ A text from Vicki. An address followed. Rumlow smiled grimly. At least the evening wouldn't be a complete waste after all. He had to fulfill his end of the bargain with Vicki. 

And right now, he _really_ felt like fucking killingsomeone.    

\--

Three weeks after Brock finally got his tuxedo back from the cleaners, it had taken ages to get all the blood stains out of his jacket, he got an email.

He stood up, poured himself a beer and sat back down again. He reread it. And then a third time.

_Do you have couples' rates?_

_Miss you, Steve._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I made you wait for a month. Hope the delayed anticipation was worth it.  
> Comments gratefully accepted and cherished.


	6. Chapter 6

"So." Brock Rumlow tapped his fingers on the side of the lukewarm diner coffee cup. He studied the man sitting across from him in the booth. Brown hair, too long for Brock's personal taste, but very easy to wind in a fist. Big blue eyes narrowed with suspicion and wounded pride, nervous anxiety broadcasted off him in waves.  

"So." James "Bucky" Barnes hadn't drank a sip of his coffee, he just stared at Rumlow as if trying to understand why his boyfriend had insisted upon this meeting. Rumlow was wearing soft denim jeans and a grey vest over a sky blue dress-shirt that made him look casual and approachable, he'd chosen it deliberately to put the skittish man at ease. 

"This little meeting was Steve's idea?" Delightful Steve, Rumlow still thought about him while he put other clients through their paces. Nothing made his cock harder than that blonde slip of a man's suffering. Well, maybe his begging for more. That could do it. 

"It sure as hell wasn't mine." Barnes huffed. 

"So why is the boyfr-" 

Barnes interrupted sharply. "Fiance."

"Congratulations?" Rumlow was still bitter about that impromptu proposal. "So why are _you_ here, _War Hero_?" Barnes flinched at Rumlow's words. _Interesting_. 

Barnes looked at his cup of coffee. "Steve and I... talked about a lot of things after that night. Like his bookings with you. I was worried that he had some sort of gambling problem or something, so much money was missing. But he was paying you with it. So I guess that counts as an addiction of sorts. He thought that I could learn some things from you." 

"Like what?" 

"Like that... pain stuff that he likes so much. I can't just do that shit. Not to him. I've looked after him ever since we were kids, you know? But the idea of someone else hurting my Steve?" Your Steve. Such bullshit, Rumlow thought, you don't own that man any more than I do, you're just safer and more acceptable than I am. Nobody stays with their childhood sweetheart forever. 

"Makes your gut clench up and your trigger finger twitch, doesn't it? Some people are worth protecting. That's what we do as soldiers, protect nations full of those people." Rumlow took a sip of his coffee, then continued, "At least that's what I signed up for."

"So, you served too?" For a moment, Barnes' face softened and Rumlow took the opening. 

"Yeah. Former Commander Brock Rumlow at your service, War Hero." 

"Don't call me that." Barnes looked at the table, uncomfortable and flushed.

"Why not? You've got the medals and the state of the art prosthetic limb there. My buddies had to make do with a hook. But that's what you get when your adventures get broadcast live to the world. Threw yourself on that goddamned IED to save that television reporter in the Sandbox. Was it just reflex or a sincere desire to get fucked up so badly that you got sent home? _Crazy_. That's what it was." 

"I don't remember. I was out of it for months, I can't, I can't remember what it was like before the incident. All I know is that I get dragged to meetings and parties and I have to smile really big and pretend that I can't still feel my missing fingers when I take off this arm." He took a gulp of cold coffee and grimaced. 

"Now you're a SHIELD poster-child. Sucks to be you." Rumlow smiled, the ribbing was gentle. 

"It could be worse. I could be an old gay hooker." Barnes shot back. A bit of fire under all those smoldering ashes.

Rumlow laughed. "Now, now. Let's play nice Junior. I don't have to book you both, you know." Oh, but he wanted to, he wanted nothing more than to show this sad puppy what it was like to be tormented by a wolf. He had beautiful lips and those limpid eyes would look wonderful swimming in tears. What would it feel like to get a handjob from a prosthetic? 

"It's both of us at the same time or no deal. I'm not leaving him alone with you again." 

"Look, I'm a professional. I don't do anything without explicit consent and fifty percent up front. You can read my reviews if you like." Reeling in the fish, Rumlow resisted the urge to smirk.

"Yeah, I did. Mr.  _Bad Ass."_ So you did read the reviews, did you look at the photos as well? Did you get hard thinking about the man who dressed your lover up like a woman and paraded him at the gala? Did you find the plug Steve shoved between his cheeks when you went home to have the best sex of your lives together? Does Steve say _my_ name into the mattress when he comes?

"My reputation for fulfilling the desires of my clients is unmatched. I used to be the best soldier on fucking STRIKE kiddo and now, I'm the best professional sex worker in this city. Mr. Barnes, I have a genuine fondness for Steve and that kid deserves to be happy. So I'll let you watch me work, show you a few pointers and then I'll get the hell out of your way. How about that?" Rumlow extended a hand and thrilled when Barnes took it with his prosthetic hand. They shook on it. _  
_

"Seems fair." Barnes' tongue slipped out and wet his lips. "Shall we set a date?"

"Let Steve do that. He's awful good at it. My rates are double, even if you're just watching. Better pick out a safeword too. You got me?" Rumlow smiled to himself and decided that he was going to seduce Mr. Barnes into being a second pet. This wasn't going to be easy. But it sure could be a lot of  _fun_.  Rumlow laid out money and a generous tip for the waitress, he stood and leaned down to say directly in Barnes' ear, "Oh yeah. Tell Steve to wear those panties." Then he winked and walked out, confident that the young man was watching him every step of the way.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame all of you for putting the idea in my head. Poor, poor Bucky. He's going to have a lot of terrible fun.


	7. Chapter 7

"For a man who is seeing his favorite client in the whole wide world, you look really worried." Vicki took a sip of her drink. "I don't think I've seen you look this off in a long time. Do you need a Viagra?" She deadpanned.

"No. Nothing stupid like that. My favorite client is bringing an observer. His boyfriend." And that little turd looked determined to ruin things. But there was something that Brock sensed about Bucky Barnes, some deep-seeded and denied need was there. Everyone had a fetish to exploit, Brock just had to find it.

"Oh, the guy with the robot arm who swooped in and stole your date at the dance? You know, I'm still really pleased at my work on Stella, so pretty and pliable. If I wasn't sure that you were a professional, I'd think that you'd fallen for that skinny boy."

Brock snorted. "Well I am a _consummate_ professional and that's complete and total bullshit. I'm still getting paid, right? I've just worked so hard on my pet that I hate to see him spoiled by a jealous little soldier-boy." The venom in Rumlow's voice betrayed the light words. Vicki tutted under her breath and Rumlow rolled his eyes.

"I've got a plan. Eventually, I'll have both of them eating out of my hand. You just watch me Vicks."

"Got no doubts Brockie, but you better bring your A-game. Because you're competing with a national hero who has a fucking fantastic ass..." Vicki's voice trailed off as she observed Brock's clients. "Oh yeah. Why are all the gorgeous ones gay?"

"We try harder. Wish me luck, even though I won't need it." He said that as much for his own benefit as for her. He licked his lips, took a deep breath and walked over to them as if he owned the entire hotel. Steve greeted him with a sparkling grin, Bucky with a sullen glower.

"Brock! I've missed you, man! You've met Bucky," Steve seemed as if he was trying to get his two favorite people to become good pals, goodhearted and sweet as always. Well, that wasn't going to fucking happen, they weren't going to watch football games at sports bars or play mini-golf. That's what friends did and Brock didn't need friends.

"Always a pleasure, shall we proceed to the room?" Brock looked longingly at Steve, ignoring the brunette trailing them like a foul-tempered shadow.

In front of the room, Brock clasped his hands and smiled. "So, since we have a newbie in our midst let's review our safe words. When you say your safe word everything stops. Everything stops until everyone present agrees that we should continue or end the scene. Once you enter this room, you belong to _me_. You listen to me, you obey me. If you're disobedient, I will _hurt_ you. If you're compliant, I will also hurt you, but in the _best_ way possible. And since the only reason I had to hold back before was due to concern for Mr. Barnes' sensitive feelings I'm relishing the opportunity to explore my creative side. My word is _pistachio_." 

"Brooklyn. Just like always." Steve playfully jostled Bucky when he sullenly refused to speak. "Oh come on Bucky!"

"Tourniquet." Barnes gritted out, his hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. His grey t-shirt stretched tight over his chest, showing the straps that attached his remarkable prosthetic arm. Steve was dressed in what Brock had told him to wear, loose cargos and a shirt that he didn't care about, with a little something extra beneath the baggy fabric. Rumlow was, of course, dressed in one of his best suits with shined shoes and cufflinks that glittered in the hallway light. An old-fashioned stickpin with the STRIKE logo on it adorned the middle of his red tie.

"So, gentlemen, last chance to back out with half of your money. But I doubt you'd come all this way if you weren't a little curious... would you?" Both of the men followed him into his lair and Brock shut the door behind them. Steve sighed as if he'd been waiting for ages for this moment.

"You, sit down over there." Brock pointed at a chair facing the end of the bed. "Keep that smart mouth closed and watch, you might learn something wonderful."

Barnes slumped into the seat, "Is this when you get naked and do a dance or something? I didn't bring any singles with me." His eyes glittered in the dark. Yes, there was definitely something there.

Brock turned back towards Steve, circling him with a slow easy pace. "Oh, I don't take off my clothes." It was easier to establish boundaries that way. He was clothed, they would be naked. He was in charge, they were not. "Ask Stevie here how many times he's seen me naked." He might have eventually shown Steve what lay beneath his dark grey suit, but it was going to take a lot more sessions before Brock would share that now. It wasn't _pretty_ for one thing and Rumlow was vain enough to care about things like that.

 "Never. I've never seen you naked." Steve watched every step Rumlow took, cheeks flushed with anticipation. "But I want to. I really want to."

"Request denied. But nothing makes me happier than seeing you strip down, pet. This time, I think I'll do it myself." Brock whipped out his switchblade and thumbed the release, the keen blade shot forth with a satin slickness. Bucky lurched forward in the chair, but Steve shook his head, and he reluctantly sat back.

"Have you been a good boy, my lovely?" Steve nodded silently as Brock slipped the tip of his knife under the button in the center of his chest. The button landed on the carpet after a deft twist of his wrist. A second followed, and then a third. "Did you wear what I told you to, my pet?" The shirt hung loosely open, all Steve's gloriously pale skin shone softly in the incandescent room light. Rumlow's mouth went dry at the perfection and he traced a light R on the skin with the tip of his blade, not cutting, merely marking the skin. Marks, his marks. Oh this was worth it, just for this moment.

Reluctantly, he retracted his blade and put it in his suit pants pocket. With one hand, Brock undid the button fly of Steve's baggy cargo pants and let the pants fall to the floor. Steve was wearing the black lace panties over sheer black pantyhose, just like Rumlow had ordered him to in their email. "Good boy. Oh yes, you look glorious in black lace. Tell me, have you been wearing nylons secretly?" Rumlow ran his hands up and down the smooth, slick fabric then grabbed two great handfuls of Steve's asscheeks. He squeezed and molded the flesh, smelling the scent of Steve's shampoo.

"Yes. I love the way it feels on my skin, like I've been missing it my whole life." Steve said against Brock's neck, his cock straining against the nylon fabric. Barnes coughed as if bored and Steve startled.

Brock frowned. He pivoted and presented Steve to his fiancé, "Look at how lovely he is. So delicate and strong at the same time. On all fours, pet. On your hands and knees." Brock guided Steve with his fist entwined in his blonde hair over to Barnes who sat with a brittle, disinterested scowl. You're trying too hard, like a pouty child putting on a show, Brock thought.

"Slap him." Brock ordered. "What? N--" The denial nearly escaped his lips, but then Barnes leaned forward, caressed Steve's cheek with his flesh hand and very gently tapped him. Brock just about threw up from the execrable sweetness.

"No. Like this." A savage yank drew Steve upright and Brock sighed, without his gaze leaving Barnes' eyes. Steve whimpered and leaned against Brock's side. "This is what he _wants_. This is what he _craves_. You're not being cruel doing it to him, you're being cruel _denying_ him his pleasure." 

Barnes didn't look at Steve, his attention was fixed upon Rumlow and the easy way the former commander leaned towards him. "You don't want to be cruel to your pet, do you? You don't want him to seek people like _me_ out again do you? You need to learn to take care of your pet, _War_ _Hero_." Barnes licked his lips, again, but was silent. 

Brock pushed Steve towards the hotel bed and stepped over to his satchel, his toolbox. He had proactively threaded rope beneath the mattress and left the ends neatly coiled under the sheets. He stripped off the comforter and the sheets with a yank. "On your belly on the bed." His tone was harsh, Steve obeyed without question. Usually Brock would be hard and ready at the thought of Steve's pert nylon clad ass presented in the air, but something was off. Damn it, it was Barnes.

Brock wound the black rope several times about Steve's tiny wrists, creating a cuff, even in his frustration he made sure not to cut off the blood flow. He was a _professional_ , for fuck's sake. Professionals didn't lose their tempers with disobedient prats that weren't even participating... the half-formed thought stuck with him as he narrowed his eyes and concentrated.

Steve was secured quickly, a few more knots and he was bound with his legs rudely splayed. Brock took out his switchblade again. "Hold still, I don't want to cut you." He laughed softly, "Well, _maybe_ I _do_ want to cut you. Just a little nick on the top of your ass cheek just to remind you of this night? A scar to forever mark you as my conquest? Be so very, very still." He trailed his hand up and down Steve's asscrack and neatly slit the seams of the lacy panties. Brock picked them up and stuffed them in his pocket. Like the skin of a ripe peach, the pantyhose parted under his blade, exposing his pucker and vulnerable sack. Clean, inside and out, recently shaved. Brock had been meticulous in his directions.

"Good boy," Rumlow purred, then he lavished the flat of his tongue upon Steve as the blonde writhed beneath him and whimpered. "You love that, don't you, my little slutty-boy. Tell me you've been dreaming about what I whispered in your ear on that dance floor." Rumlow rubbed his stubble on the tender flesh on the inside of Steve's thighs, the nylon caught and snagged then snapped back pleasingly.

"I have. I have jerked off so many times thinking about it." Steve panted.

"Look at that tight little hole, all pink and pouty, begging for a kiss. Obscene how much you're begging for it. Want me to open up that door and let everyone see you? Tell _me_ _..."_ He worked his thick finger inside, crooking it and wriggling it back and forth mercilessly. 

"Please no...Oh god, it's too much! Please don't stop. Never stop!" Brock grinned at Steve's begging and bit at the flesh of his thigh. The squirming and thrashing was delicious.

"Now don't say another word until I tell you to." He scraped his fingernails down Steve's legs, tearing runs in the nylon. 

"So when does the spanking start?" He'd almost forgot that they had company. Almost. "I mean, it's getting pretty late."

"I beg your pardon?" Brock sat up and rested his chin on his hands. His face was calm and placid, not betraying the irritation and frustration seething within him. He even smiled benevolently. 

Barnes shrugged. "Well all I've seen so far is you tying Steve up and diving face first into his asshole. That's not worth what you're charging. That's every other Friday night." He laughed. 

"So, I'm not living up to your idea of what a professional should be?" Brock blinked slowly, studying his prey. 

"No. I can do _that_." Barnes pointed rudely at the bed. "Anyone can do that."

Brock stood up and gestured, "Okay then. Show me. Come on over here and get a real close look." Barnes stood up and took a few steps, cocky as all hell. He reached the edge of the bed and ran his hand up Steve's black sheer nylon-clad leg. 

"Come on Steve, this guy's nothing special--" Barnes' breath whooshed out as Brock kicked his legs out from under him, then expertly bound his wrists together with a zip-tie from his pocket. Rumlow sat on Barnes with his full weight as he secured his legs. He turned about and put his knee in the small of Barnes' back and wound his fist in that floppy brown hair. It felt like silk running through his fingers. He took a moment to enjoy the scent of Barnes' shampoo and inhaled deeply. 

"You know why I'm in charge and you're eating hotel carpet, puppy?"

"Fucker! Let me go!"

"No. That's not my name." Brock rubbed Barnes' face against the rough wool carpet pile. "Look at this pretty, pretty picture Stevie. You know why your boyfriend was never able to scratch your itch? Why he always dove in to save you? Sure, he loves you. I can buy that. But there's a better reason." He lifted up Barnes' head, leaned down and worried Bucky's earlobe with his neat white teeth. The puppy's gasp was so sweet. "He's a bigger painslut than you are, Stevie boy. He wasn't trying to save you, he was trying to scratch his own itches. That's why he didn't like your bruises, he was too _chickenshit_ to seek out his own."  

Barnes thrashed wildly and grimaced as Rumlow bore down harder on his kidney with his knee.  "Oh feel free to struggle, that just makes it tighter."

"You... fucking bastard." The young man's voice quavered, confirming Brock's guess. 

"Exactly. Now, now. I can't have you all tied up and fully dressed. You better hold, very, very still." Barnes squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the snikt! of the switchblade next to his ear. Rumlow was wrong about this being hard, but so right about it being _fun_. Brock grinned. Steve hadn't uttered a word and _no one_ had used a safe word yet. "And I like to be called _Daddy_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I go on? 
> 
> Comments gratefully cherished.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Barnes failed to suppress a shiver as Brock traced the tip of his switchblade down his spine. His clothing lay in tatters, strips of cloth hung off his body in ragged ribbons. Several shallow cuts along his flank and across the tight skin along his ribs weeped blood and stung. 

"I _told_ you to hold very still. But no. You had to thrash around like an animal." Brock smeared Barnes' blood in stripes across his sweat-beaded skin, _finger_ - _painting_. "Worse than an animal. A dog knows when to submit. Are you stupid or stubborn, my pretty puppy?"

"Fuck you!" Barnes' hair hung in his eyes, plastered with sweat against his forehead. He struggled futilely and his stamina impressed Brock. There was a lot of fight left in this one. He painted a streak of blood down the center of his captive's nose, then down his pouty lips.

"Mmm. Now that's a _thought_. Should I pull you up on your knees, prop that ass up in the air and ream you until you scream?" Brock sniffed in disdain as he pushed Barnes over with his booted foot, exposing Bucky's traitorously hard cock. The bound man squinted his eyes shut in shame so he didn't see Brock's appreciative smirk. _Better and better_. Brock looked over at Steve, who was still bound on the bed.

Steve's blue eyes were wide and his breathing ragged, his hips tilting to rub his pantyhose covered cock on the mattress as he watched the scene beside the bed.

"No, I think you get to stay right _there_ on the floor." Brock sat on the edge of the bed. "Bad animals aren't allowed on the furniture. Try not to stain the carpet, puppy. Be considerate of the cleaning staff." He stood up and loomed over Steve, then took off his suit-coat, leaned close and kissed the soft hollow beneath Steve's ear. "I've been wasting my time with you when I could be enjoying my very limited time with your delectable Stevie. He's been so obedient that he deserves a treat." Steve pressed his body into Brock's touch, biting at his lip. 

"Now, you didn't say a single word this whole time." Brock cut the ropes, freeing Steve. "Remove my boots." Steve obeyed without question, but he did glance at Bucky on the floor. His lips quirked in an inscrutable smile and Rumlow was inspired.   

"Unzip me. Show me how you can use that pretty pink mouth of yours. Make sure he can see. And _hear_." Steve licked and sucked with an abandon that Brock hadn't experienced for ages. He'd be an idiot if he thought that the performance was only for his benefit. Brock slapped away his hand when he tried to wrap it around the shaft. " _No_. No hands." He was too close to spilling to survive that. Steve looked up at him through thick eyelashes and Brock's heart tried to crawl into his throat. He seized a handful of Steve's hair and pulled him away with a wet sloppy pop, threads of drool stretched and snapped into dribbles down Steve's chin. 

"That's right, wonderful, my pet. Now, get the condom and the lube packet in my pocket." Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Barnes made a strangled noise of protest, more of a groan than a string of actual words. Steve paused and with a worried look on his face, reached out to Barnes, nearly touching him. Brock placed his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed, then shook his head when Steve looked up at him. 

"But..." Steve whispered, the first word since he had been ordered to be silent. 

Laughing warmly, Rumlow drew him close. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Barnes' eyes track every motion. "Yes, that's where I'm going to eventually put it, my sweet."

Steve ripped open the foil packet and unrolled it down the length of Rumlow's cock. "Now, some lube. That's it, now sit in your Uncle Brock's lap." Brock wrapped his arms around Steve as he slowly impaled himself, sighing with blissful relief. Brock rubbed his stubbled cheeks up and down the nape of Steve's neck, then grasped Steve's nylon slick hips, thrusting upwards with a brutal push of his own hips. Steve's cock strained against the fabric and he grasped himself through the nylon, desperate for the sweet relief of friction. His feet slipped a bit on the carpet and Brock kept him upright, biting at the flesh beneath his bird-like scapula.   

Steve tossed his head backwards in his abandon and narrowly missed Brock's nose, but Brock held on to him with one arm wrapped his waist and the other about his neck, and chanted in his ear a litany of profane praises.  "That's right, ride me. You fantastic little slut. Take your fucking pleasure, _own_ _it_!" Oh how he had missed this. If he were a different sort of man, he might have wept at the fabulous feel of the young man squirming and thrashing in his arms. 

Keening with wordless delight, Steve came and the front of his pantyhose darkened. The feeling of his limp, total submission made Brock even harder. Brock patted the bed, kindly. "Curl up on the bed, my sweet. Not a word." Brock tucked a sheet around his tiny body and smiled at the red impressions of his fingertips that would surely turn into purple bruises by the morning. He was such a  _delight._  

But now he had someone else to deal with. He stripped off the condom with ruthless efficiency, then stood over Barnes while he lazily stroked himself. Barnes' eyes never left his cock. That is, until Brock took off his leather belt, doubled it and held the buckle in his fist. He knelt down and rubbed the leather on Barnes' face, while smiling a wolf-like grin. 

"Now, _puppy_ , I'm going to beat your ass until you cry out for mercy. And even then, you've made such a mess of my lovely evening that I might not stop. That is, unless you can convince me. Do you understand?" A mute nod. Brock manhandled and pushed Barnes to his knees, his face still on the hotel carpet with his ass in the air. It was indeed a  _fantastic_ ass, pert and round with dusting of brown downy hair crowning it. It was a blank canvas just awaiting a few bold, red  _strokes._

The first blow cracked out and Barnes did nothing but gasp, his whole body tensed and shuddered. Brock knelt down to get close enough to rub his cockhead over the red welt, tracking the belt path with his pre-cum. 

Brock spat, "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Deep down inside in the shadows of your soul. You've been poked, prodded and sliced open, but that wasn't the right kind of torment, was it? None of those doctors wrapped a lube-slicked hand around your cock while they made you cry, did they?" He reached below Barnes and grabbed his cock with a spit-slathered fist, then jacked it a few times, pleased by the shuddering of Barnes' body. Brock smiled nastily and struck a second time with the belt, his victim howled against the carpet. Again, Brock jerked Barnes' cock. A third time. 

" _Weep_ , show me those tears. No one owns your pleasure but _me_ right now. And I can be as _terrible_ as you need me to be. Just give in, _submit_. Call me _Daddy_." Brock rubbed the welts on Barnes' ass with rough, determined fingers.

"Oh, god--" Barnes sobbed, not a hint of the cockiness that he'd so recently flaunted. " _Please_ , I-- I-- need to come, _Daddy_." The soft desperate admission made Brock drop the belt, then he rutted up against the hot red flesh of Barnes' ass while finally jerking off his client until Barnes came. The best part wasn't the orgasm that ripped through Brock as he painted the puppy with his cum, the best part was knowing that with that single, begging submission he had _won_. Triumphantly, he wiped his cock clean on a tattered piece of Barnes' t-shirt and tucked himself away. 

He had  _won_. While Steve had watched. That was so amazingly hot that even at Brock's age he felt that he could go again. But, he had a job to finish. He carefully unbound Bucky, rubbing feeling back into his real hand and wrist, then helped him to his feet. He checked over his client with fastidious care, inspecting the wounds with a mixture of pride and concern. There would be scarring.  _Good._

"What the hell is this?" Bucky asked as Brock half led, half carried him to the bathroom.

"It's called aftercare. Feels good. Lets you come down soft and not get all tangled up in your head. Steve, are you good until I get done with this one?"

Steve sleepily nodded. "Fine." Then he curled up on the bed and watched with slowly blinking blue eyes. "That was... really something _special_." 

"I know, right?" Brock smiled and removed what was left of Barnes' clothing, then rolled up his shirt sleeves, "You're a fucking mess, come on. Let's get you in the shower. One foot, two foot..." 

"I can shower by myself." Bucky weakly protested, under the spray of the hot water. "The arm is waterproof."

"Not with how long you were immobilized, you can't. You're not going to slip, hit your head and die in the shower on my watch." Brock poured a glob of shampoo in his hand and lathered up Barnes' hair, massaging. "That would be fucking  _embarrassing."_

"You just want to watch me shower, dirty old man." Barnes looked at the scars, shiny and faded that ran along Brock's arms. They matched the scars that criss-crossed his own torso. Burn scars and grafts. Barnes licked his lips. 

"Right now, you look like a drowned rat." Brock rinsed his hair and bundled Barnes into a towel. He was going to have to tip the housekeeper well after this session. "Now get on the bed and let me get the first aid kit." Brock grabbed his satchel, took out two sets of his old gym clothes for the young men to change into afterwards. He wasn't being kind, it just made good business sense to plan ahead. Hence the instant cold pack for Bucky's exquisitely tender ass. He'd known that there was a very good chance that someone was going to need first aid after this session, be it from playtime or from a fist-fight. Either outcome would have been delightful.

Before Brock could return, the two young men had curled into each other's arms and were dozing off, tears running down Barnes' face. They looked so sweet and innocent that it made Brock's teeth ache. Ideas for corrupting, torturing and coercing them ran through his mind in a rapid stream of depravity. Brock listened and just barely heard Steve whisper to his lover, "Come on, Bucky, stop crying. This is all fantasy, you know? Fun and games. _It doesn't mean anything_." 

Brock's stomach lurched at Steve's innocent cruelty and he slipped back into the bathroom, choking back his bile, squeezing the ice pack until it burst in a wet splatter in his clenched fingers. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was exhausting to write! Let me know how you feel...


	9. Chapter 9

 

"Dude, that's your last one." Brock Rumlow scowled and threw back the rest of his drink as the bartender cut him off. He normally didn't drink to excess, but he was especially inspired. It felt better to be numb and stupid than sober and aware. The last couple of weeks had been a black spiral of obsession and self-destruction that were leading to somewhere very, very bad. He'd taken down his website and hadn't checked his email since that night in the hotel with Steve and Bucky.

Those... fucking _assholes_. Brock crumbled a peanut into dust and gritted his teeth.

It was his fault. It was all his fault.

He was weak. Weak and stupid.

His fists itched, but the idea of spending a night in jail was less appealing than starting a bar brawl.  _It doesn't mean anything._ Steve's words echoed in his head and Brock stumbled off to hail a cab.  _It doesn't mean anything._

His breath fogged in the chilly air. He stood next to a group of working girls and tried to find the last stick of gum in the bottom of his jacket pocket. "Ladies." He nodded respectfully and shoved the mint gum in his mouth. "Staying safe and warm tonight?"

There I am for the grace of God and the Internet, he thought, glad I don't have to work the streets now. He had to get it together, he couldn't wallow in self-pity and misery, he'd end up right back here sucking dirty cock in cars.

"Hey." A blonde said back. "Looking for company tonight gorgeous?" Her voice was hopeful.

"Nah, just swore off pretty girls like you. You're nothing but trouble." Brock gave her his best charming smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. She took a step back, instinctively recoiling from his dead eyes. 

"Gonna stick with pretty boys then, sugah?" She laughed haltingly. 

Brock rubbed his face. "Believe it or not, they're even  _worse_." 

A man drunker than he was approached the group of street walkers and screamed in their faces, "Stupid bitches! Get over here! I've got a coupon!" 

The blonde shouted, "Fuck off!" Brock grinned at his luck, his itchy fists would have something to do after all.  

"Hey, _sailor_." He tapped the man on the shoulder and then hauled back with a haymaker containing all his frustration and venom. The skin on his knuckles split and he felt something delicate splinter in the man's face. Now that felt  _good_. Finally something to channel his rage into. He kicked the drunk in the ribs a few times for good measure and then stomped on his hand, grinding the heel of his boot into the small bones. He grinned and reached in his pocket for his switchblade. 

If he'd been sober and aware, then he wouldn't have missed the asshole's friend coming up behind him with a beer bottle. It glanced off the side of Brock's skull, tearing his scalp. The second blow would have fractured his skull if not for the sudden intervention of Bucky Barnes. Barnes tackled the attacking man low and hard with his shoulder. The attacker fell and his head bounced off the curb. Brock heard laughter in his ears and after a moment realized that he was guffawing hysterically as blood streamed down the side of his face, pooling in his shirt collar.

 _Damn_ , he really liked that shirt. 

"Now  _that_ was just what I needed." He pumped his fists as if he had won a cage fight, then cocked his head to the side. "Barnes? Why the fucking hell are you? Are you following me?" He poked the young man in the chest with a finger after Barnes stood up and wiped the dirt from his knees. 

"No. I mean, _yes_. Don't you know how to say thank you?" His brown hair was caught back and doubled in a ponytail, creating a messy bun. It looked ridiculous. 

"I know how to say  _fuck you._ " Brock stumbled a bit and pressed his hand against his wound. Fucking head wounds. 

"Let me drive you home." Trying to rescue  _me_ now Barnes? Well that's a fool's quest, Brock thought bitterly. 

"I can walk." It would only be a mile or so, he could make it.

Barnes shook his head. "Not with that head wound you can't. You're going to go into shock if you don't get some staples." He took Brock's arm and whether it was from the blood loss, the booze or the adrenaline, Brock didn't resist. It felt good to be touched, not that he'd ever admit it. You could pull out his teeth before he'd cop to that.

"It's just a scratch. I've cut myself worse shaving."

Barnes opened the hybrid's door and shook his head with a slight smile. "Okay tough guy. You've convinced me. Now get in the fucking car." 

The car ride was mostly silent. Brock held a clean sock against his wound from a gym kit in the trunk. His blood was on the headrest of the car, that was going to take some serious cleaning. "Sorry about the upholstery. I should have seen that guy coming." Brock apologized, feeling a bit woozy. "I'm usually better at taking care of myself." 

"I'm surprised you're speaking in complete sentences with how bad you smell. What the fuck is wrong with you?" 

Brock groaned melodramatically, " _Everything."_

Barnes snorted. "Well you've still got both your arms and most of your teeth Grandpa, so that's a complete load of bullshit. There's the urgent care. Wait, you have health insurance, right?"

"Yeah, but what I don't have is my wallet." 

"Look, I'll pay for it. You look like hell and smell worse. They'll give us a discount just to get you out of there, old man." Barnes pulled up to the curb. "I'll just take it out of your hide later." He looked at Brock with heavy-lidded eyes and his meaning was unmistakable. _Interesting_. _  
_

" _Now_ who's spewing the bullshit? You know, I'm the one who does all the hiding." Brock mumbled under his breath, " _Old man._ "  _  
_

\--

Four staples later and a bill that Barnes wouldn't let him look at, not until he sobered up at least, they pulled up to Brock's apartment building. He was still fairly out of it, mildly shocked is what the doc had called it. "Wait, how did you know where I live? I didn't tell you." He narrowed his eyes and grabbed Barnes' jacket sleeve. 

Barnes shrugged. "Steve's good at finding people, but not so good at logging off his laptop. I kinda snooped. He doesn't know I'm here, he's off at some sort of work retreat getting bored to tears and sending me dirty texts." Steve had looked up his address? Brock was perversely pleased, yet still offended at the breach of privacy. He still let Barnes help him up to his place. 

"Doesn't know? Or doesn't _care_?" Brock dropped the keys twice before finally opening the door. 

"Doesn't know. He said it was your choice to go off the grid and that we should respect your boundaries." 

"Huh. So this is how you respect boundaries. Stalking people. You know, I've beaten the shit out of people for less than that." 

Barnes smirked and did that one-shouldered shrug that reminded Brock of his prosthetic. His movements were so natural that unless you looked carefully, you'd never know that he was wearing it. "I don't take orders well from people who aren't wearing a uniform. And even then, well, none of my medals were for compliance or conduct. But the doc said I had to stay with you and you had to stay awake, just in case you have a concussion. So get over yourself and get in the fucking shower. You smell like the subway." Brock flipped him off and Barnes rolled his eyes, that made Brock reach for his belt. Beat some of that sass out of him... But he took a sniff of his shirt and wrinkled his nose in agreement. 

Turning on the light of the bathroom, Brock peeled the shirt away from his skin. Blood flaked off and dusted the bathroom counter. Brock probed the wound lightly, inhaling with a sharp hiss between his teeth. " _God fucking damn it,_ " he cursed.

"What's wrong?" Barnes leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. 

"My hair is going to look  _all wrong_ now. Stupid motherfucker ruined my  _part._ " 

Barnes laughed, "You've got strange priorities."

"I make my living being a sexy beast, you stupid bastard." 

"I don't think a little scarring will change that. They say chicks dig scars, right?" Something about the boy's tone, flippant and casual, made Brock run a hand down the front of his chest. 

Wordlessly, Brock took off his shirt and turned about. His well-muscled torso was criss-crossed with thick pink ropy scars that trailed beneath his waistband. They extended like red, glossy spiderwebs down his strong arms. Barnes blinked and licked his lips, then let his gaze travel the length of Brock's body. 

"Go ahead. _Stare_. Look at all my fucking ugly scars. Goddamn gas tank exploded. I spent close to a year in that god-forsaken VA burn ward just trying not to go insane from the pain of those grafts. So get a _good_ look. Drink it in. I'll never make your dick twitch again, will I?" Bitter bile dripped from the words, the shrinks had tried to tell him to accept the changes, to embrace them. Embrace those hideous scars? _Never_. Yeah, maybe his carefully groomed image was over-compensating for the ugliness that etched his skin, but that's all he could control. 

He squinted and balled the shirt up in his fist. He'd never shown this to anyone and only the booze mixed with the painkiller made him reckless enough to try. If Barnes laughed at him, he'd crush his fucking _skull_. 

"I was just thinking that we matched." The young man took off his shirt and carefully removed his prosthetic arm, the scars there were still red and angry. Brock couldn't help himself, he reached out and ran his fingers over the stump. Barnes shivered a little and the hair on the back of Brock's neck stood up.  _Oh my._

"What does this feel like?" He dusted his fingertips over the skin, tracing the surgical scars. The incisions and tiny little dots from sutures were raised like Braille. They told a story in pain and loss. Brock rubbed his thumb over the largest scar.  

"Like, I should be able to touch you and really feel your skin, but that's just the ghost limb, the phantom limb. I actually tried to grab a glass of milk last night and I got confused when I couldn't lift it to my lips." Barnes laughed, but not at Brock. He ruefully laughed at his own perceived foolishness. "Now get in the shower or do I have to join you, you stubborn old goat?" The invitation was clear and Brock reached down to grab the waistband of Barnes' pants, roughly jerking him into his arms. 

"Was this your plan to keep me awake tonight?" Brock bit at his earlobe and cupped the cheeks of his pert ass. Maybe there were lingering bruises from the belt-whipping, maybe he'd have to make more... "Pity sex?" 

Barnes sighed and ground his crotch against Brock's thigh. "It's so much better than shitty late night tv, isn't it?" 

And for the first time in weeks, Brock genuinely laughed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall I go on?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vomit, medical setting drug usage and Brock being a complete bag of dicks.

Barnes started the shower and turned on the exhaust fan after pushing Brock away gently with his one arm. "The shower is not optional."

Brock made a face and pulled a towel out of the cabinet. "Do you want to brush my teeth too, _Mommy_?" 

"That wouldn't be a bad idea, but after the shower." Brock chafed at being ordered about, that was  _his_ specialty, but he did smell terrible. Even though all of this was Barnes' fault. He wouldn't be on a bender if Barnes hadn't interfered with his seduction of Steve. He could have made it  _mean something_ to that skinny little bastard. 

Brock shimmied out of his pants with careless grace and nearly tripped on his own boxers. He glowered at Barnes, daring him to laugh, but the young man was staring at every inch of his body. Brock suddenly felt more vulnerable than he had in a very long time. His scars twisted down his legs in irregular ribbons and snarls. His fingers clenched into fists and he looked at the floor. "See, this is why I don't strip down on the clock."

"I think I'd insist on it." Barnes uttered, licking his lip and catching it in his teeth. "If we were to do another _session_." Brock hurried to take off his socks and got in the shower without another protest, feeling off-kilter and awkward. It must be the drugs and the booze churning in his stomach. Hopefully the other side effect wouldn't kick in. Now _that_ would be embarrassing. 

After Brock dropped the shampoo, the soap and the conditioner, Bucky stripped down, reattached his prosthetic and joined him. "I swear Grandpa, we're going to get you one of those call button necklaces because you're going to fall on your goddamn ass in here." 

"Shut it!" Brock closed his eyes and let Barnes soap up his body, touching him in places that no one had in since his release from the rehabilitation center. His fingers traced the contours of both muscles and scars, Brock couldn't tell if it was the plastic hand or the real one under the spray of hot water. Both hands trailed down his waist and cupped his ass cheeks. Then they snaked about his waist and began lathering up his groin hair, fingers massaging the base of his cock.  It was sensory overload, Brock began to breathe heavily, hot moist air filling his lungs. He couldn't decide whether to lean into Barnes and enjoy the caresses or flee the claustrophobic shower stall after kicking Barnes' legs out from underneath him.

His gut churned and he noisily retched in the shower stall. The noxious mixture of stomach acid, bourbon and oxycodone flowed down the drain as Brock bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. " _Fucking hell_. I knew that would happen." Well  _that_ would chase Barnes away for sure, nothing sexy or enticing about hurling.

Barnes grabbed the shower head and hosed down the tiles then _petted_ the back of Brock's neck. "Can't hold your liquor, old man?" He helped Brock upright and washed off his lips, the plastic fingers amazingly delicate and those blue eyes soft with tenderness. A spike of spiteful resentment stabbed into Rumlow's gut, how dare Barnes treat him like this. He wasn't weak, he didn't need a nursemaid. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't even  _like_ this bastard. His head ached.

He resorted to his standard bravado and banter, Barnes wouldn't notice the hitch in his voice. "Nah. It was the pills, can't tolerate them. Both a blessing and a curse, you know? I didn't get hooked on them because they just wouldn't stay down. But then I also got to experience a shitload of pain. But pain brings order, I guess, I just got used to it. It was either that or go bug-fuck crazy."

"Did you cry when they took away your morphine drip, like I did?" Barnes asked as he rinsed Brock's body and hair, very gently. The water ran clear. 

Brock laughed at the horrible memory. "Yes! I sobbed like a baby. I begged to get it back. I think I remember telling the doc that I would suck his cock just for one more hit and the old goat told me that I wasn't his type."  

"I confused my drip trigger button with the tv remote control, _once_. _Click_. _Click_. _Click_. Why isn't the channel changing? Oh shit!" Barnes mimed falling asleep with his head and loudly snored. "I was grateful though. I didn't have the nightmares when I was knocked out." He shut off the shower, opened the door and grabbed the fluffy white towel. "How much bleach do you use? These smell like the swimming pool at the Marriott." 

"I like my towels." Brock rubbed his face with the towel and squinted at Barnes. "They smell sanitary." Barnes looked about the spotless bathroom and out into to the equally immaculate apartment as he toweled off as well.  

"Yeah, but you'll have to replace them sooner." Barnes shrugged. "My therapist would call that overcompensation for something. Really, it doesn't even look like you live here." He pulled on his shorts, his long brown hair damp and clinging to his face and neck. "Here, let me help." He took the towel from Brock and picked up the clothes on the tiled floor. "Where's your hamper?"  

"In the bedroom. I keep it clean for cam work, no one wants to see your shit all over the place when you're jerking off." It was easier to clean up the blood evidence after one of his midnight excursions when everything was spotless too. "You still see a therapist?" Brock followed Barnes into his bedroom, the bed was neatly made with hospital corners in the sheets. "I told mine to fuck off years ago."

"I have to. It's part of maintaining  _this_." He lifted his prosthetic. "They just want to be sure that I'm not thinking about doing anything _stupid_. Like I'd do that. I've got Steve to look after."  The bloody clothes tumbled into the hamper. "Your shirt is totally fucked by the way." Brock's temper flared at the mention of Steve's name, this-- this--  _boy_ had ruined _everything_. He was sweet, kind and compassionate. Brock wanted to beat him senseless, mar those delicate lips with blood and bruises. Teach him what being weak like that would get him in this horrible world.  

"I'm good at getting out bloodstains. All part of the job." Brock walked up behind Barnes and with a determination borne of spite and bitterness, knocked Barnes off his feet onto the bed and quickly put him into a submission hold. "I think you may have forgotten that we're not friends, you're not my buddy and I'm a very dangerous man." 

 "Tourniquet!" Barnes gasped out. Brock laughed.

"Your safe word only works when we're playing in a negotiated scene, you idiot. This is _personal._ " He flexed his arm a bit, just to make sure that Barnes knew who was in charge. "Why'd you follow me?"


	11. Chapter 11

Of all the things Brock expected Barnes to do as he was pinned beneath him, not one of those options was to _laugh_.

Plead for mercy, beg for release, yes, but not start guffawing like he was at an open mic night.  "Christ, you're so fucking _dense_ Brock. I followed you because I spotted you staking out our house  _months_  ago. I'm a goddamned sniper, you moron. You don't think that I'm constantly looking around me, scanning the perimeter for hostiles? You stick out like a sore thumb in your fancy suits and fluffy hair! _Ow_!" He complained as Brock tightened his grip a bit more just out of spite. 

"So you knew about me, the whole time?" How much did he see? Did he see Brock slitting that man's throat after stabbing him once in each lung just to hear his gurgling death rattle? No... Wait, that was just after the gala, there was no way he could have seen that. Brock tamped down his rising panic, no, he'd been too distressed about the whole Steve situation to go hunting these past weeks. He was safe. This little bastard could have ruined everything. "For how long? HOW LONG?!"  

"I knew from the first night Steve came home, curled up against me and slept for 10 hours. He only sleeps like that after he's been emotionally exhausted and sucked dry. Steve is a _shitty_ liar. Let me go, you idiot!" Brock released Barnes and fell back against the pillows. He looked at the ceiling while Barnes tried to work feeling back into his arm. "And long enough to see that you weren't going to hurt Steve. Long enough to see you weren't a threat. You're a fucking _pathetic_ stalker though. Next time wear a hat or a hoodie or something like that. Now why were _you_ watching us?" 

Brock buzzed his lips in a rude way, "I'm a _professional_ , I have one joy in my life and that is my work. So yeah, I research repeat clients. For my personal safety. That's it." He wasn't trying to see if Steve was upset, if Steve had been thinking about him, if Steve was wearing that blue shirt that made his eyes glow... 

"So it was _professional_ to dress my boyfriend up like a pretty princess, drag him to his fucking work party and make out with him on the dance floor?" Barnes laid down on the other pillow beside Brock, too close to be ignored. What was this kid _doing_? Brock wrinkled his eyebrows and squinted at him through the pain of his headache. He'd expected Barnes to have put on his pants and run out the moment he was released. Why was he lingering?

"It was a  _scene._ He told me to, and I fucking quote here, s _urprise_   _him_. So I _did_." Brock shrugged and then nastily asked, "Were you surprised?" 

Barnes shook his head, "Nope. Because I was following you both the whole time." He licked his lips and smiled with self-satisfaction. 

" _You're_ quite the creepy little stalker. What are you? A voyeur as well as a pain slut? Did you like watching me treat your boyfriend like my little pet? What did you think? Go on, tell me." Brock propped his head up on his hand and listened with a smirk. Tell me how much it hurt you, how much it made your heart ache...

"Steve makes one hell of a woman and that it was the perfect time to do what I had meant to do years ago..." Barnes smiled fondly. "I mean I was shocked when I saw you kissing him, but obviously I got over that. He'll never forget that proposal. I should thank you, really, you did all the hard work." 

"Fucking ruined my scene... I planned for weeks." Brock pouted and fell back into his fluffy pillows. He looked at his scars in the lamplight, they shone dully. "I was going to... you know..." Ask him to stay with me, see if he'd dump you and move in. I dunno, see if he wanted to be mine. It all seemed so ridiculously ham-fisted in retrospect. 

"Fuck him senseless? I took care of that." Barnes reached over a cautious hand and touched the skin over Brock's ribs, a touch that almost tickled. He looked at Brock through his eyelashes. "If it makes you feel any better, I had him dress up for me, again, after the gala. It didn't feel right though, so I offered to bring you back in."

Taken aback, Brock blinked. " _You_? You offered? I thought you said it was his idea."

"I said _Steve_  was a shitty liar, not _me_." Barnes shimmied over closer to Brock, laid one of his legs on Brock's thigh, perilously close to Brock's naked groin. "Part of what makes Steve so frustrating..." He breathed in Brock's ear, smelling of soap and shampoo. "Isn't that he's constantly searching for ways to test himself, it's that he has no boundaries, he just can't set limits." He snuck a kiss into the hollow of Brock's ear. A strand of hair fell across his face, casting a shadow in the lamp light. "I feel like he needs constant protection, not just from predators and assholes, but from _himself_. That's probably why he's so _obsessed_ with you. And I... I can see the attraction, when you're not sitting on me, that is..." 

"What?" Brock asked softly, not quite comprehending and needing to hear the words again. 

"You're dead fucking sexy, you asshole. But you weigh a ton."   

"I mean, the Steve part..." Brock reached up and tucked the strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. It was so soft.

"Oh, he thinks you're this stone cold dominating bastard that has no weaknesses, nothing but strength and power." Barnes ran his real hand down Brock's torso. "But he doesn't know you very well, does he, Brock? Not the _real_ you." Bucky moved quickly and straddled the older man, pinning his wrists down against the mattress. His hair tickled Brock's face as he leaned over. "I'm not your buddy. I'm not your pal and I'm certainly not fucking in love with you. So I can tell you _this_ , my life is not going to be happy unless I have that scrawny little punk in it and he's not going to be happy unless you're there too."  

"What?" This was moving so fast, Brock blinked in confusion. Was it the drugs, the booze or the head injury that was making his heart beat so fast? It couldn't be the young man pinning him to the bed. He didn't even _like_ Barnes, Brock kept repeating in his head. He struggled half-heartedly and cursed his slowly hardening cock.

"I'm _vetting_ you, you pompous cock-sucker. And you're completely fucking the whole thing up. What are you afraid of? We're going to hurt you? We're not going to make you stop working. Hell, we don't even need you to be exclusive." 

"What about you? This can't just all be about Steve. You don't have that big of a martyr complex, do you?" 

"You excite me. You don't look at my scars or my stump with pity. You don't treat me like glass, ready to snap at a moment's notice. Do you know how long it has been since I felt like _that_? Crying with relief and joy and happiness? Wrung out and limp?" Barnes shook his head. "I've been trying to get you in bed all evening, you jerk." 

"I thought, I thought Steve said that it didn't mean anything." Brock turned his face away. He had heard those words. He had.

Barnes rolled his eyes and grabbed Brock's face with his prosthetic hand, forcing him to look at him. His blue eyes were narrowed with frustration and irritation. "You only listened to THAT PART? You didn't hear me tell Steve how happy I was? And you didn't hear him _agree_? Is  _that_ why you ran?" Brock didn't answer, he wasn't that weak, he didn't need any one. Certainly not a pair of snot-nosed kids, no matter how toothsome and pliable. 

"I can't... I can't listen to this. I won't listen." No tears, you fucking asshole, don't you dare cry. You loser, Brock, he told himself.

Barnes shook his head, "You  _will_ listen to this. This is important." He pointed at a messy snarled scar on Brock's chest. "This shit, this doesn't matter." He slapped his palm down over Brock's heart. "Right here. This is what matters. And I know you care about Steve. _I'm with you both_ _until the end of the line_." 

He tried to laugh right in Barnes' face, he tried and failed. What came out was a strangled sob and a harsh confession. "You don't know a thing about me, kid. My heart is black as sin and my hands are covered in blood. I _like_  hurting people. I've done things that would make you puke and pray to God that I never came near you again. I've never made any apologies for who and what I am. You don't want me in your life. You _don't_. You're just thinking with your dick right now." 

"Well, it hasn't lead me astray yet. Fucking hell, just kiss me Brock. You egotistical, broken husk of a man. _Just kiss me_." 

Brock thought for a moment about the odds of finding two beautiful boys who only wanted to be with him, who craved his control and his dominance. Barnes' lips hovered above his own and Brock threw caution and decades of self-loathing to the wind. He kissed that boy with all the pent up passion he could muster. He wound his fist in long brown hair and raked his teeth against Barnes' pink tender lips.  

"Well, if I'm going to be a _kept man_ you better be fucking awesome at sucking cock, my pretty one." Barnes sighed a deep sigh against his lips and let Brock guide him lower and lower, giving his hair a yank from time to time just to remind him who was _still in charge._ Barnes' fingernails scratched down Brock's thigh, the scars no longer feeling like red brandings of shame. "That's right, such a good boy, take it all. Take all of me." 

Barnes pulled his mouth off Brock's hardness, his mouth hovered over the slick tip. "Gosh, if I'm terrible at this, then you better _train me."_ Blue eyes sparkled with wickedness and Brock laughed, then ran his thumb over his swollen spit-slicked lips. 

"I'm going to beat that _sass_  right out of you, boy." Brock promised.

"Looking forward to it, _Daddy."_  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please tell me this worked. My weekend was taken over by emotionally constipated men and the sexy little boys who want him...


	12. Chapter 12

Brock sat in an overstuffed microsuede chair, stared at the front door and willed it to open. It was the suburbs, he thought, that was what was wrong. It was too quiet and too clean. The air didn't smell right. It wasn't because he was finally going to see his Steve again. No, that wasn't it. And it didn't help that Barnes was doing his best to get under his skin.

Brock amused himself by thinking about the various places in this living room that he could suspend, bend over and immobilize Steve. Right behind the front door there was a very sturdy looking wall mounted coat rack... He smiled at the thought of Steve hanging there, helpless. 

"This is  _boring._ Steve won't be home for a while, we could probably pass the time in much more _fun_ ways." The shirtless young man lolled on the couch beside him. "I want to see what you brought in the bag, Grandpa." _  
_

Brock ignored the jab about his age, he'd proven over the past week that he could more than keep up with Barnes. "I don't want to be _messy_ when he comes home." Things always got messy with Barnes. He wasn't as tidy and sweet as Steve. Not nearly as compliant. "What did you tell him?" 

"Oh, that he needed to come home right away and not go to the office after his little retreat, something was wrong with the plumbing in the guest bedroom. Texted him, just like I always do." He looked over at Rumlow with naked hunger in his eyes. "You look really, really good by the way. If all my instructors had filled out the uniform like you do..." He pursed his pink lips and blew a low appreciative whistle. "I'd have been a model soldier. Maybe asked for special assignments."

Brock snorted, "I'd have made you run laps for being a kiss ass. Why don't you read a book or something?" 

"Why don't you  _make me?_ " Barnes defiantly asked and flipped Rumlow off. Brock didn't rise to the bait, but that didn't mean he wasn't making a list for later. 

"Give me your phone." Rumlow said. Barnes pointed at the end table, then flipped the tv on to some inane chattering cartoon. There was a text from Steve on it, how had he missed that?  _Gonna be late, called the plumber. He'll be there @ 4. Love you._  Brock deleted the text with a swipe of his thumb and sat it down on the table. Then he looked over at the clock. And smiled. 

Brock stood up and stretched, it felt good to put on his old uniform again. The combat pants fit like a glove, he'd worked hard to stay in shape, if anything he was stronger now than in his youth.  A black t-shirt with the STRIKE insignia on the sleeve completed the look and stretched over his muscles, exposing his scarred biceps and lower arms. He knelt down and unzipped his duffel bag, the sound of the zipper louder than it should have been. 

He reached inside and pulled out a pair of black fingerless gun gloves, then slipped them on, slowly. He never looked at Barnes, but he knew he had his full attention. "So, what's your safe-word?"

" _Tourniquet_. You know, if you're teasing me, that's just fucking lame." Barnes didn't move, like an indolent cat, but Rumlow wasn't expecting him to.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a thin riding crop with a very small loop, he gave the air an experimental slash. The sound cut through the chattering on the television and Barnes audibly gulped. Second came a set of black leather cuffs, glossy with polish. And finally, something that Rumlow hid behind his body, just out of sight. 

"Take off your clothes." It was the first order that day that Barnes had obediently obeyed.

He crossed his arms, confident in the beauty of his body in the way that only young careless men are. Brock was jealous of how much better the boy's trauma surgeons obviously were. Barnes' scars were like badges of honor, not shame. His prosthetic arm wasn't even an afterthought, merely a part of himself now. "So, what now?"

"I don't think that you quite understand what your role is in all of this, Barnes." Brock used the tip of his crop to trace a trail down Barnes' body. "Your compliance is less than satisfactory."

Barnes rolled his eyes and shifted his weight, "I'm just here because you want to see Steve and I have the house key. This is all about him, you know that. I know that. You're not even into me." He brushed his hair off his forehead and huffed.

There was a bit of truth in that statement, Barnes didn't make Rumlow's heart race as fast as Steve did, but his cock wasn't so picky. Glancing down at the young man's groin, Bucky's swelling cock confirmed that it didn't matter that much to him either.

Rumlow slowly circled his prey, his booted feet silent on the carpet. He kept the mystery object tantalizingly out of Barnes' line of sight. The cuff connecters clinked against each other as they dangled from his other hand. Rumlow leaned close and whispered in Barnes' ear, his breath stirred downy hairs, "Compliance is rewarded with bliss. Non-compliance is not. You want _bliss_ , don't you puppy?" His voice was silky and full of sinful promises. 

"I'm _not_ your puppy." He bit his pink lip with his eyes screwed shut, then shivered at the touch of the crop on the underside of his scrotum.

Rumlow sauntered over to the front door and leaned casually on the door frame. He tossed a black leather collar with a chrome buckle and D-ring on the floor. "Put that on and you _will_ be." His smile was benevolent, but his eyes were alight with mischief.

"I'm not wearing a fucking collar." Barnes still stepped forward and picked it up. He turned the leather around in his fingers, running his thumb over the buckle. "I'm not an animal." The leather was the width of his thumb and stamped with the initials B.R. 

"You're worse than an animal. Didn't we already establish that even dogs know when to submit? I'm not using these on you if you decline and you can just sit there, pouting. Seems like a terrible waste of both of our time." Rumlow tapped the crop on his gloved palm and raised his eyebrows. 

"What's in it for me?" Barnes demanded. He hadn't stopped fondling the collar. 

Softly and with firm conviction, Brock said, "I protect _my_ pets. I make sure they are well cared for. I don't play favorites and give them equal time. You don't want to be left out, do you? You don't want to be left alone?" He tilted his head, "In fact, if you put that on, I'll tell you a secret that will suddenly be very relevant to your current situation."

Barnes looked doubtful, his eyebrows knitted together as he considered being left out of the festivities. 

"Look at it, James." Brock had never used his first name before, but it seemed like the best way to sway the reluctant boy. A small casual intimacy that people took for granted, the name rolled off Rumlow's tongue. "It's such a pretty collar. As soft and supple as the skin on your pert ass." 

Blue eyes blinked slowly, "When do I take it off?"

"When I _tell_ you to. Isn't that a wonderful thought? You wouldn't have to make any tough decisions, no agonizing over what makes your cock hard. You'll just leave that all up to me. Let me make all the calls, trust in me."

Barnes unbuckled the collar, placed it against his throat and with a small gulp, uttered, "But I-- _I love Steve_." With shaking hands, he threaded the leather through the buckle and looked at the floor. A brilliant red flush that would have done Steve credit painted Barnes' cheeks, utterly bashful and shy. Brock was hard enough to cut glass.  

"Oh sweetheart, this _isn't_ love." He dropped the crop and held out his arms. Barnes took a halting step then melted into his embrace, Brock petted the back of his head and rested his hand on the nape of Barnes' neck. The collar could be _tighter_.

"This is the beginning of your training, my lovely. And we have a lot of work ahead of us."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Bucky, no! Let me know what you think. Comments are cherished.


	13. Chapter 13

Rumlow brushed hair away from Barnes' eyes, his lashes were so dark and full. Then he adjusted the collar, taking it in to be snugger. He lingered feeling the throb of Bucky's pulse in his throat. He hooked his finger through the D-ring and pulled on it, testing the fit.

"Looks like you need a leash to complete the look. Then I can have you crawl behind me, awaiting my cues, being on point. It's not so much different than being on a mission, you know?" He jerked his hand down and trailed a gloved finger down Barnes' nose, "But I think you're needing something else today... _Kneel_." Brock stood at parade rest and looked his project imperiously in the eyes until Barnes swallowed hard. Still flushed crimson, the young man sank to his knees and looked up at Rumlow who then picked up his riding crop.

"Think about how you were acting today. Do you remember what you told me when I suggested reading a book? Remember what you _did_?" He ran the crop tip under his chin, tracing his jawline and tapped his cheek. Barnes flinched, screwed his eyes shut and awaited the inevitable.

"What was that lovely phrase? Oh yes, _Why don't you make me?_ " His voice purred with menace and he swung the crop, catching Barnes on his flank. The crop bit and Barnes bit his lip in return. "You seem to have forgotten the very, very important fact that I am not a _nice_ man. And you've just given yourself to me, to play with, to _make you_ into something better."

"Fuck you, _Daddy_." Barnes feebly whispered, more of a prayer for absolution than a plea for mercy. 

A strike across the top of his right ass cheek, the snap loud as a thunderclap. Another to frame the first, then another the leather loop snapping quickly to create a tapestry of contusions, bright red blending into purple. Barnes' grunts and groan were angelic to Brock's ears. He squeezed his fist tight around the handle and reminded himself not to break his new toy. He had all the time in the world to do _that_.

He was indeed a very patient man.

Brock offered Barnes his arm and helped him to his feet. The young man clung to him like a lifeline, his face slicked with streams of tears. "You're so beautiful." Brock cooed. "So beautiful. You took your punishment so well." The heat from the bruises on Barnes' back seeped into his fingers, he dug them in and grinned at the way Barnes writhed to escape his grip.    

Brock buckled one cuff, then the other on Barnes' wrists. He thought about having Barnes take off the prosthetic arm so he could bite at the scars on his stump, but he enjoyed the way the tiny servo motors whirred in the silence of the house. The coat hanger behind the door was just perfect for what he had fantasized about. Brock nudged Barnes' legs apart until he was precariously balanced on his toes. Brock wished that he'd brought his spreader bars. And his camera. 

Brock stood back and enjoyed the lovely tableau. The black leather collar encircled his toy's neck like a promise. Even if Barnes took it off, the collar would _still_ be there. From the moment he chose pleasure and pain, he'd never be able to not feel the caress of leather wrapped around his neck. 

Brock rubbed his gloved hands all over Barnes' body, committing every inch to memory and probed the bruised flesh with cruel fingertips. "What do you call me? Let's review." Barnes didn't answer, so Brock grabbed a fistful of silky brown hair and forced his chin up. "What is my name?" 

" _Daddy."_ It was so delightful how quickly he submitted and even more delightful how swollen and hard his cock was. Pain brought order, but pleasure-- pleasure sweetened the sting. 

Brock used his teeth to take off one glove, he smacked Barnes teasingly with it on the chest. Then the other, Brock tucked the pair of gloves into his pocket. One by one, he let Barnes lick his fingers, suckling upon them as if his life depended on his enthusiasm. Covertly, he glanced at the time on his wrist. Any moment now...

"Since you are such a good boy right now, I'm going to be so sweet to you.  _So_  sweet." Brock procured a bottle of silicone lube from his duffle. "Tell me, my pet, what do you want me to do right now?" 

"Touch me-- Daddy. _Please_? I think I might _die_ if you don't... " The whine in Barnes' voice went straight to Brock's crotch and not for the first time, he wondered what he had done to deserve these gifts. Certainly nothing good. He might as well take as much as he could, as quickly as he could. Who knew when the fickle brat would tire of him? Brock squeezed a drizzle of lube into his palm, set the bottle down and coated his hands in the slick. 

"Since you begged so nicely," Brock worked with both strong hands, stroking and pulling Barnes' cock. "Tell me when you're going to come, my sweet." Barnes pushed his hips, trying to get closer and not lose his tenuous toe-grip on the carpeted floor. 

"I-I'm--" He gasped and Brock took his hands away. The look of shocked betrayal in Barnes' eyes was  _wonderful_. With a vulpine grin, Rumlow let Barnes' erection thump against his stomach, the head oozing pre-cum. Dribbles painted Barnes' abdomen. "You-- stopped?" 

"I'm waiting." Brock leaned in close, his lips grazed Barnes' cheekbone. " _Beg_ for it." 

"Oh god, please. I need to cum, Daddy! I have to! I put on the goddamn fucking collar, you _promised_!" Barnes panted and Brock repeated his deft massage until he knew the boy was nearly at the tipping point. He stopped again, rivulets of fluid spilled over his fist. An ejaculation without orgasm, the cruelest touch. "I can't-- I can't take it Daddy... I'm so close!" His brown hair was plastered with sweat against his forehead and he struggled against his bonds. 

Brock heard footsteps coming up the driveway. 

"Remember that secret I was going to tell you, my dove?" Barnes' glazed eyes looked confused and he shook his head. 

The doorbell rang. 

"I probably should have told you sooner." Brock took one of the gloves out of his pocket and shoved it in Barnes' mouth, a makeshift gag. "Now be very, very quiet and I'll finish you off afterwards. Remember, you brought this on yourself." He wiped his hands as clean as he could on Bucky's chest.

There was a certain joy in knowing that the plumber had no idea what lurked behind the front door. "Hello," Brock greeted him, "Sorry about the trip. The bathroom seems fine now. Nothing a little elbow grease couldn't take care of."

"I'll still have to charge you for the outcall, but if everything is fine..." An umbrella fell off the the rack and landed a clatter on the floor. Instinctively, the plumber tried to look around the edge of the door to see what fell. Brock stood in front of him and blocked his view.

"Sorry, that was my dog. He knocked over something. We're still working on training and he's just terrible around strangers. Biting and scratching. I've got the poor thing muzzled right now. But what can you do, puppies are all the same, right? You just have to show them enough love and kindness. Again, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience." Brock shrugged and the plumber laughed.

"I've got two of my own. What breed?"

"One hundred percent pure mutt. A rescue."

"No need to pay the outcall. You're doing God's work son." He offered Brock a hand, but Brock declined with a ingratiating smile.

"Sorry, I'm covered in puppy slobber. And thank you. I do what I can for the poor mistreated animals on this Earth. Take care now!" The plumber walked back to his van and Brock shut the door. Bucky glared at him, the glove still wedged between his teeth and his cock still demanding release. Brock squirted another gob of lube into his palms.  

"My poor, poor mistreated animal. Did you hear that? I'm doing God's work." He pulled and stroked until beads of sweat gathered on Bucky's brow and the boy was shaking with tension. "It doesn't feel very saintly. But I've always sympathized more with the fallen angels myself." He took away his hands and Barnes howled in frustration, his voice muffled by the leather. Brock grinned and took the glove out of Barnes' mouth. "You were saying?" 

"Motherfuckin' just, my God, please. Please Daddy, please..." Barnes choked back a sob, "I'll be good, I promise!" 

"Oh I know you will, my sweet." One, two quick strokes and a slick-palm swirl over his purple swollen cockhead and Barnes' eyes rolled back in his head as a powerful orgasm jerked through him. His breath was ragged and he hung limply from his bindings. "Because good puppies get treats, just like _that_." Brock kissed him sweetly and stroked his hair as he shook. 

A key clicked and the door swung open. Brock stepped out of the way as Steve, loaded down with bags, dragged in a red rolling suitcase behind him. "Bucky, I swear I just saw the plumber leaving. That was quick! If I never have to go to another one of those conferences, I will be so grateful. No work gets done, everyone just sits around with their thumbs in their asses and tries to pretend that they shouldn't get fired. Now that--" Steve stopped, stunned at what he had just walked in on. The door swung shut behind him. 

"Hello Steve." Brock wiped his hands off on Barnes' discarded pants. "Those conferences do seem like an awful waste of time." 

" _How_?" Steve's mouth gaped and Brock stepped close. He grabbed Steve in his arms and held him close as if he were something precious and fragile. 

"I missed you." Brock said into his ear.

Bucky looked at the floor, hid his devastated face in his hair and said in a quavering voice, " _Tourniquet_."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky never gives less than his whole being, does he?
> 
> Did I go too far or not far enough? *excited clapping!*


	14. Chapter 14

Brock blew air out of his lips, buzzing them in exasperation. "Okay kid. You've pulled the ripcord. Let's get you down and taken care of." No matter how irritating Barnes was right now, Brock still had to respect his choice to use the safe-word. He reluctantly let go of Steve who was staring goggle-eyed at his fiance dangling from the coat rack. 

"My mother gave us that coat rack..." Those were not the first words that Brock expected to hear. This was not going well. He had thought that Steve was going to be  _late_.

"Your mom has great taste. Very sturdy craftsmanship." He released Bucky from his bonds and made sure he could stand on his own. Barnes took a step and stumbled into Brock's arms. "There you go now. There you go. Let's get you cleaned up." He checked over his charge with fastidious care and half-carried him into the bathroom. He turned on the shower after seating Barnes down on the toilet. 

"You okay there, sport?" Brock combed back Bucky's hair from his face and was taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. "Was I too rough on you? Do you need some pain reliever? An ice pack?"

 _Silence_.

"Now I can't read your mind, I only pretend that I can. So you're going to have to talk to me." Usually Barnes wouldn't shut up, flapping his gums constantly. The silence felt wrong. _Very_ wrong. Brock had the sinking feeling that he'd FUBARed the whole scene. "Are you _hurt_? Damn it, _James_ , talk to me!" 

"Just go have fun with Steve. _He's_ the reason you're here, remember?" There was vitriol in his voice, not his usual sassy snark. Brock blinked. And then he set his jaw. Oh no. This gross insubordination would not stand even though the scene was done. This little bastard was wearing  _his_ collar. 

"Nope! We're not doing this." He picked Barnes up, hauled him over his shoulder and man-handled him into the shower, not caring that he was getting wet as well. "You're not pulling that load of horse-shit on me." He gritted his teeth and suppressed the urge to smack Barnes' ass scarlet with his hand.

"Fuck you, _Da_ _ddy."_ Barnes hissed through his teeth. Now anger was something that Brock could deal with, something he could break down and grind under his heel. "Equal time my ass." Barnes touched the collar around his throat and gulped.

"So that's what this little temper tantrum is about? Okay, I fucked up. Want to hear that? I shouldn't have left you... hanging. I shouldn't have done that. That was my fuck up. I  _own_ that." Brock grabbed the shower handset and hosed off Bucky roughly. "But I thought we had an understanding. I'm here because you sought me out, you brought me here for Steve. We were just playing, remember?"

Barnes nodded his head, water dripping down his face. "Yeah. You're not even into me. I know."

"You have your charms. And also, you're the first person I've _ever_ shown all my scars to, so that means a whole hell of a lot, you ungrateful little brat." Brock turned off the shower, grabbed a towel and rubbed Bucky dry all over. He could have been gentler, but the brat didn't deserve it. "So stop acting like this is the end of the world. I'm only one man. You're going to have to learn to share." And if Steve didn't want him, then Barnes was a fantastic outlet to vent his rage and frustration upon. After all, this was  _all_ Barnes' fault. 

"Are you going to give one of these to Steve?" Barnes hooked his finger into the D-ring. 

Brock sighed. "I only have one." Damn things were expensive. He'd been bored and the idea of humiliating and breaking Barnes down had been so tempting. If only the kid would just do what he was _told_. But, that would be even more boring, Brock admitted. God knows what Steve thought about the whole situation.  

"And you're wrong." Barnes wrapped the towel around his narrow hips. 

"About what?" Brock unlaced his boots, they were sopping wet. "Gah, wet boot feet." 

"You also owe me a shitload of money from your little accident." Barnes tapped his own head in the same place Brock had staples. "I saved your life. You know in some cultures, you'd owe me your life." The sassy banter was reassuring and Brock laughed.

"You've already proposed to one person in this house, pet. You don't need another one." Barnes lifted his eyebrows and shrugged half-heartedly. "How about we trade services for monetary debt. My normal rates?"

"Sounds good. You should be paid off in a few months then." Barnes examined his bruises in the fogged mirror, but his touch again lingered on the collar. Brock stepped up behind him, ran his fingers over the nastiest of the crop bites and smiled to himself. He did  _good_ work. 

He curled his fingers around Bucky's throat and stroked the leather. "You can take this off, if you want to. You don't have to wear it anymore." 

Barnes shook his head, his towel-damp hair in his eyes. "No, I'll wait a bit." 

"Looks good on you. Just sayin'." Brock gave Barnes a rare kiss on the side of his head and ruffled his hair. He didn't want to get kicked out of here before he had a chance to seduce Steve. So he could play nice, make a few concessions. His ego could handle that. Being a professional also meant being a hell of an actor especially during aftercare. The young man leaned into him and ran his prosthetic hand through Brock's wet hair, watching their reflections in the mirror through hooded eyes.

The sound of a piercing alarm shrilled through the house and Bucky loudly cursed. "Oh _fuck_. Steve's trying to cook." 

Brock followed him into the kitchen, Steve was spraying a roll of flaming paper towels in the sink. He looked up, a smudge of soot on his face and smiled ruefully. "I thought everyone might be hungry." 

"So you set the kitchen on fire." Bucky hopped up on the counter with easy grace and took the battery out of the alarm. He landed on the floor and gave the alarm to Steve. "What happened?" 

"I was trying to boil some water for spaghetti, and I guess I got distracted, left the paper towels on the burner... Brock, why are you here?" Brock suddenly felt very out of place, sopping wet with bare feet on the linoleum. He smiled ingratiatingly and spread his arms in a shrug. 

" _Surprise_? Bucky brought me here, for you, actually. I've looked better, I know. I apologize for what you walked in on, I thought we'd have more time than that. And I'll help clean up the carpet." He added as an afterthought. "Do you need some help with that?" 

"Oh we'll just order in from our bountiful supply of take-out places. Thai or pizza tonight?" Bucky opened a drawer stuffed with paper menus. "I don't want Indian again and that vegan place made you break out in hives..." 

"What are you _wearing_?" Steve asked, breathlessly. 

"A  _towel."_ Barnes chewed on his thumb. "We could do Chinese. A couple of Number Two Family Dinners could work." 

Steve reached up and fondled the collar, a grin spreading over his face. Barnes flushed red, but didn't flinch away. Brock took the moment to walk over to the refrigerator and scan the contents. "Tell you what. Spot me some dry clothes and I'll take over this cooking fiasco." 

"You can cook? Because I think we're inviting half of these delivery drivers to our wedding." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is going to be one awful day for me so I thought I'd post an update. Thank you so much for the comments. They make me want to write more.


	15. Chapter 15

Barnes dug in his chest of drawers and pulled out a few items of clothing. He tossed them at Brock, who neatly snagged them out of the air. "I think those will fit you." 

Brock scrunched up his face in disgust. "A muscle tee and some basketball shorts?" The white shirt read, _Surf Naked!_

"I didn't say they were the most sartorial selections _Your Majesty_. But they're dry and I can pop your stuff in the dryer." Barnes pulled on a pair of shorts, some jeans and a grey t-shirt that was tight enough to show the straps of his prosthetic arm. Brock smirked at him. "What?"

"I think I like being called _that_." Brock quickly stripped down from his wet clothing and shimmied into the borrowed garments. He frowned at the feeling of the slick synthetic fabric. It felt  _cheap_. He dressed the way he wanted his skin to look, flawless and classic. 

"Oh you _would_." Barnes laughed. "Give me your wet stuff, your _Lordship_. Nothing like hot clothes right out of the dryer. Sometimes I sit on the couch and just dump the whole basket of hot towels on myself." He sighed at the pleasant memory. "My towels don't smell like a swimming pool either."

"How far away is a grocery store from here?" Brock asked as they walked to the laundry room.

"'Bout a mile. Why?" Barnes threw Brock's clothes into the dryer and added a dryer sheet that smelled of sweet floral chemicals.

"Because I looked in your fridge and I am not a fucking _wizard_. If I make a list, do you think you can pick up a few things?" Brock crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. It was the truth, there was nothing in their larder that would remotely make a good meal. Certainly nothing that Brock would be happy to serve. Also, it would get Barnes out of the house so Brock could have some quality time with Steve. 

Barnes held up one finger, "If I can pick what you cook." His eyebrow arched and he smiled with mischief dancing in his blue eyes. Not as blue as Steve's but still quite pretty, Brock admitted to himself begrudgingly. 

"Keep it simple and I'll do my best." Was the kid really going to go out in public wearing his collar? "You might want to take that collar off though, you might get some stares." 

"Oh, like I fucking care what people think. I've already got a mechanical arm and the cover of TIME, what's a little thing like this? Remember, we're not even into each other. _Right_?" Barnes touched his throat and looked at the floor. "But honestly, I would kill for some pancakes. Real syrup, butter. Can you do that? Tell me you can do that." The urgency in his voice was adorable. Such a puppy. Maybe, maybe this could work.

Brock reached over and tucked in a stray piece of hair behind Barnes' ear. The young man leaned into Brock's touch. "In my sleep. "

\--

Brock busied himself looking for the basics to create the fucking fluffiest pancakes these two boys had ever eaten. There wasn't a lot of organization in the kitchen so he began to open random cabinets and drawers. A wooden spoon, a big bowl and a frying pan that looked like it hadn't ever been used sat on the counter. Brock began hunting for the cooking oil, he'd forgotten to write that down for Barnes, so he opened a cabinet above the sink. A cascade of pill bottles clattered out into the sink and onto the floor.  "Jesus Fucking Christ!" he cursed in shock. 

Steve laughed and leaned against the counter, he'd obviously just said goodbye to Barnes, his lips were swollen and pink. Brock stifled his urge to wrap his arms around Steve, gather him close and kiss away the memory of his fiancé's lips. 

"Ahh, you've discovered my medicine cabinet. The wonders of modern medicine. Keeping me alive and kicking. I really need to throw away the empties, but stripping off the labels is such a chore." Steve looked Brock over and wryly commented, "I think Bucky wears that shirt to powerwash the deck." Brock started to put the bottles back in the cabinet, suddenly self-conscious about his skin and about the pain etched in his scars. Steve watched him reach up and down, content to observe the way Brock's body moved.

After several minutes of silence, Brock sighed.  "Aren't you going to ask about my scars?" He closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable rejection. A light touch ghosted over his arm, tracing the ruddy pathways and gnarls. Brock caught back a groan in his throat and bit his lip. The power this slip of a man held over him. It just wasn't fucking right. It made him feel weak and vulnerable, but he wouldn't pull away from that touch. No, not even if you shot him. Not after he thought he had lost Steve for good.  

"Gas tank explosion. Lucky that you covered your pretty face." Steve said in a matter of fact tone. "If scars and trauma bothered me then why would I still love Bucky?"

"Now how the fuck did you know _that_?" Brock caught Steve's hand in his own and held it. It was so small, delicate bones and tendons wrapped in soft skin. "How?"

"I said that I work for the State Department. Never said which branch. I'll toot my own horn a little and tell you that I'm one of the best out there at ferreting out secrets and conspiracies." Steve looked up at Brock through his lashes and smiled. "Even then, some files on you were still off limits to me and that's a bit _scary_. So that omission tells me that you were a very, very valuable asset until you pissed off the wrong person and got discharged albeit with a spotless public record." So Barnes wasn't the only stalker in this house. "I don't just believe the reviews in the adult personals. As amusing as they were, Mr. Bad Ass." 

Brock ran his thumb along the fleshy part of Steve's palm, tracing the lines that the superstitious called _life_ and _love_. "I got discharged after the accident. My usefulness was at an end. I never lost a single man on my team, not a single one. I can be proud of that. I'm not really proud of other things I did." Even though they were so much _fun_. Government-sanctioned mayhem was the best kind of thrill. No fear of reprisals, nothing but that sweet, sweet taste of violence in his mouth.  "So, what other terrible things did you find out about me? Am I a very, very bad man?" He lifted Steve's hand and kissed it gently, grateful to not be shunned or cast out. 

"I'm impressed that you decided not to join up with the Cabrino family. They were under surveillance at the time and half of them are rotting in jail now." His fingers curled around Brock's chin, softly stroking the stubbled flesh. 

" _Motherfucker_. Between Barnes following me around and your background check, I'm amazed you're still talking to me. I thought no one knew about that ancient history. That was decades ago." He shook his head, still not letting go of Steve's hand. "Working as an enforcer for the mafia was _below_ me. I'd rather make an honest living sucking cock on my own terms than be bossed around by a bunch of old homophobic farts."

On dark lonely nights when the urge to inflict some good, honest pain on some poor fucker seethed and festered in his gut, Brock regretted not signing up with the Family just to scratch that itch. But no one ever missed the people who harassed prostitutes and the girls certainly weren't going to turn him in...  

"And of course, the fact that everything an enforcer does is _illegal_ , right?" 

"But of course. I'm such a morally and legally upstanding citizen. Full of unquestionable character. That's why those files are sealed, by the way, they're all the fantastic things I did under orders for my country. They'll make everyone else look like utter shit in comparison." Brock took the opportunity to press up against Steve. "I do pride myself on my professionalism. Especially for my favorite client." 

"I think we've crossed the line between client and businessman a long time ago, Brock. Don't you?" Steve pulled Brock down to his level with a fistful of muscle t-shirt. He kissed Brock sweetly and sighed against his mouth, " _I missed you_. You scared me so much when I couldn't find you. Please don't disappear again. You _promise_ me."

Brock's heart rose up in his throat and he combed his fingers through Steve's hair. "Yeah. Cross my heart." And he meant it. He meant it with every fiber of his being. "But what about Barnes?" Brock picked Steve up and sat him down on the kitchen counter. He lavished the side of Steve's throat with kisses that lightly purpled his pallid skin, he worried an earlobe with his teeth and groaned as he traced the counters of Steve's body. 

The front door opened and Barnes announced, "I braved the grocery store and have returned with the spoils. These better be the best damn pancakes this side of IHOP because Sheila the checkout clerk wouldn't stop staring at my ass. And I bought a _spatula_!" With a rustle of bags and a big grin, Barnes set his haul down on the island, pretending with brittle cheerfulness. "Everybody needs a spatula. Right? You don't want to be _left out_ , I mean left with pancakes on the pan. Right?" Brock frowned, Barnes was not going to mess this up. If dealing with Barnes was the price of admission for being with Steve, Brock accepted that mission. And he could have a little fun with it too. 

"Come _here_." Brock imperiously demanded. Barnes obeyed without hesitation. "You think that I can't handle both of you brats?" He threaded his finger through the D-ring on Barnes' collar and pulled Barnes very close. Brock whispered with jovial menace, "What are your safe-words?"

" _Brooklyn_." Steve mewled against Brock's neck.

" _Tourniquet_." Barnes set his jaw, "But I'm literally starving. You can see my ribs." Brock released the collar, snaked his arm around the young man's back and cupped his ass. He looked Barnes in the eyes and the feel of the boys melting into his grip was heady. Two of them. What had Brock done to deserve this?

"Take off your shirt and sit right there on the floor, puppy. You're going to watch everything I do and I'll reward you if you behave. Deal?" Barnes dropped to the floor, stripped off his shirt and waited attentively. " _Good_ boy." He returned his attention to Steve. "And you need to get your ass off the counter. I've got to work some kitchen magic here."  _  
_

"What do you want me to do?"

"Can I trust you to make frozen orange juice?" 

Steve hopped off the counter and mock saluted, "I promise to not set it on fire." 

"I'll believe that when I see it." Barnes muttered from the floor. 

 

 

Barnes' eyes followed the stack of white edged, beautifully browned fluffy pancakes as Brock brought it to the kitchen table. Warm maple syrup and softened butter were in the center of the table and Steve triumphantly poured orange juice into three glasses then set the places. Barnes hugged his knees and smiled in gleeful anticipation. 

"So, butter smeared on each layer of the short stack then drizzled with syrup, damn. These are lovely, if I do say so myself. Eat up Steve." Brock sat down and loaded his plate. Barnes pursed his lips and opened his mouth, about to protest, but then he shut his mouth with a snap. Brock smiled. 

"Come over here, puppy. Stay on the floor." Brock patted his leg, "Right here." Barnes laid his head against Brock's thigh. "Open up." Brock picked up a bite of pancake sticky-sweet with syrup and fed it to Barnes. Barnes made a guttural moan of delight and ate the offering. "Lick them clean and you get another bite. Can't be messy." He sucked Brock's fingers clean and waited for the next bite. Brock hand-fed him another morsel and let Barnes clean his fingers again with his clever mouth.

"Where was your conference again?" Brock asked Steve casually as if hand-feeding a grown man bits of pancake under the table was the most normal activity one could do. "There had to be something fun about the whole experience." 

Steve seemed to have forgotten what he was doing with his fork, the bite suspended half way from his mouth as he watched Barnes lick and suck Brock's thick fingers. "Uh... what? I guess I liked the jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. We have a hot tub out back as a part of Bucky's rehab, but it was nice to have in the room too. They had really excellent wi-fi connections too...Oh fucking dear god." Steve swallowed, his voice trembling. "Can you feed _me_ next time?" 

"Well it's getting pretty late. So if you're going to get me back to my place..." Brock wiped up an errant drop of syrup on Bucky's cheekbone and Barnes licked it off his fingertip. "Sticky boy. Sticky sweet thing."

" _Stay_." Steve said firmly. "You can have the guest room."

"Well, that's mighty nice of you. Puppy, do you want me to stay too?" Brock fed him another bite and Barnes smiled around his chewing, then nodded while cleaning Brock's fingertips. "Now, I don't usually sleep over, so be careful about waking me up. Old habits die hard, I don't want to hurt anyone. Okay?" 

"Can't be any worse than Bucky's thrashing. Ever been whacked in the face with a prosthesis?" Steve frowned, "Broke my nose in two places. But the things we do for love, right?" Steve smiled at Brock who forgot for a moment what he was doing. "Pass the syrup, please." Barnes impatiently bit Brock's finger just to shake him out of his daze. 

"Son of a bitch!" Brock swore and shook the pain out of the bite, "Bad puppy!" 

"Shouldn't taste so good then," Bucky murmured with a smirk and curled his arm around Brock's leg, holding his mouth open for the next bite. 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pancakes. It had to be pancakes.
> 
> I'm sick. No, not like that. I've got the worst cold ever.


	16. Chapter 16

The guest bedroom was larger than his living room and seemed to be furnished with strictly Swedish imports screwed together with hex-keys. Brock snorted. At least the bed was soft. Soft and huge, must have been a California Queen, Brock thought as he sprawled out spread-eagle on the sheets. He put his hands behind his head and wondered which one of the boys would sneak in first. Like naughty little things at a sleepover.

Sure, he'd been a little hurt that he wasn't invited into  _their_ bed, but Bucky was probably exhausted and of course, Steve would think of him first. _Always_. Brock frowned, maybe he understood the floppy-haired little bastard's possessive streak a bit more once he thought about it. It would be nice to have someone to think about you, but that wasn't a luxury he could indulge. It was easier to find someone to victimize than to protect, anyways. 

After half an hour, Brock got in the bed and enjoyed the feeling of clean cool sheets on his skin. Of course, he'd sleep naked. He idly stroked himself, but gave that up in anticipation of better fun.

After an hour, Brock sat up and with a grim frown on his face, rifled the room. There was a basket of knitting supplies, a tin that promised butter cookies but was filled with embroidery floss and a couple of Cat Fancy magazines in the bottom dresser drawer. He reclined on the bed and by the light of the dim bedside table started reading about the care and feeding of Burmese kittens. 

Two hours later, Brock was dozing with the magazine over his face. He never heard the door open or the patter of feet. He did feel the gust of cold air as someone snuck under the foot of the blankets and shimmied up his legs. "What the hell," Brock sputtered, the magazine falling to the floor. There was no answer other than a warm wet mouth taking his soft cock into their mouth and just holding it there. No licking, no sucking or flicking. "Took you long enough, Jesus. If I wasn't expecting you guys, you'd probably be nursing some broken bones right now. And what the hell are you doing down there...?"

Brock went to lift the edge of the blankets when Steve leapt onto the bed and bounced there, grinning in the dark. "No peeking!" 

"Unless you invited the neighbor, I'm pretty sure I know who is under there. And he better  _not_ bite this time." Brock growled. 

Steve shrugged, "I can't make any promises." He was wearing a pair of sheer black nylons, nothing else and he straddled Brock's chest, knocking the air out of Brock in a whoosh. "So do I have your complete attention?" 

"Um, yes?" Barnes swirled his tongue, just once. "Oh Christ, yes!" 

"Good. Because Bucky was telling me that you're a stubborn man, Brock Rumlow. You wouldn't know subtlety if it started sucking your cock." Steve leaned forward and kissed Brock on the lips. "We want to date you. Not just as clients or tricks. We want to get to know you better and take things from there. We've got a huge house and more than enough money to support you, if you wanted to take a sabbatical from your professional career for a while. Or you could just work from here, I take the bus to work and Bucky is on disability which means that he doesn't go a lot of places unless SHIELD needs him to look sexy for a photo op. So you could drive the hybrid if you had an outcall or something. I mean, I haven't nailed down all the details yet, but I'm pretty sure that we could make this work just fine. I've got great wi-fi here, did I give you the password yet?" Steve licked the tip of Brock's nose.

"You what?" Brock blinked as Bucky started to laugh under the sheets, doing naughty things with his lips. "I mean, you want to  _date_ me?" 

"We could have so much fun! I want to get dressed up all girly again and go dancing with you. I want you to make me feel like the most lovely person in the room again. I want to choke on your cock and watch you spank Bucky until his ass turns red and then maybe, let me take a turn. And curl up on the couch when the weather gets cold and watch bad movies with you. And eat your cooking. And have you feed it to me, god that was the hottest thing, I never knew I was into that. I didn't know a lot of things until I knew you. Have you gotten it through that thick head of yours, yet? I want  _you_ , Brock Rumlow."

"What about Bucky? Don't you love him?" Brock tried to squirm out of Barnes' mouth, getting hard in spite of himself. He didn't want the jealous boy to nip him again. 

Steve reached behind him and rubbed the lump that was Barnes' blanket swaddled head. "From the moment he helped me up from the pavement at O'Hara Elementary after I fell out of the swing-set trying to launch myself to the moon. But really, Brock, do you think there's only room for one person in a man's heart?" Steve put his hands on Brock's chest.  "Fuck love triangles. I want both of you. And I think you want me too."

Steve cradled Brock's face in his small hands. "Do you Brock? Do you _want_ me?" Brock groaned.

"I do. Fuck, I want you so much. I've thought about nothing else, I went crazy when I thought you didn't want me. But-- I'm not _good_ for you. Neither of you, I keep telling you both over and over, but you just won't listen!" Tears leaked out of his eyes, "You're offering me everything I've ever wanted, but if I accept... Those files were sealed for a reason, Steve! I'm an awful person, I'm a  _killer._ If you have me in your life, I'll just end up setting it on fire..." Brock wound his hands in the sheets. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair.

"Just like paper towels on a stove burner? Don't be silly. See, the fact that you keep telling us _that_ means that you care about us. You don't want to hurt us."

"You're wrong. I like to hurt you. The idea of making you bruise and bleed makes me smile. I get hard thinking about beating you both." How honest could he be? "I'm a sadist, you bastards. You know that."

"Yeah, but you know when to stop. And you respect our wishes. Probably more than we respect yours, I mean, I did violate every basic tenant of individual privacy and probably a few minor laws just checking you out." Steve smiled, "You haven't done anything awful that I don't know about." Oh poor beautiful Steve, he knew  _nothing_. And would listen to even less. 

Bucky snorted a laugh under the sheets and Steve tapped him on the head. "Oh hush you."

Bucky released Brock with a wet pop and stuck his head out of the blankets with static-cling hair standing away from his scalp, "I'm running out of air down here. Steve knows what he wants and you're pretty fucking awesome. I'll never say that again, so remember it. Come on, Old Man. Shit or get off the pot." 

"I don't, I don't know what to say." Brock should get up, he should run away. He shouldn't pull the young man down in his arms and smother his lips with kisses. 

"Well Mister Professional, I believe that I fell in love with you that first night that you showed me what makes you special. You've opened so many doors for both of us that we were too afraid to explore, to be honest about, but now we want to take you with us. Come on Brock. Say _yes_."

Brock started to laugh. He laughed until his sides ached. Bucky and Steve sat on their haunches on the bed watching him shake. When he could draw breath, he wiped away the tears on his face and held out his arms. "Come here." With the young couple on either side of him, he drew them in close. "Okay. _Yes_. But if I fuck this up, I told you so. Remember that."

" _Deja_ fucking _vu_." Barnes smirked. "We already went through this, but of course, he'll listen to _you_. Everyone listens to Steve. The only time people listen to me is when there's someone that needs to be shot." Barnes was still wearing Brock's collar, Brock threaded his fingers underneath it and yanked. 

"Get back down there and do a _good_  job this time."

"Mission accepted!" Barnes leaned over and kissed Steve sweetly, then kissed Brock just as tenderly. Then he saluted and dove back under the covers.

Steve curled up against Brock and ran his hands over the scars twisted in his skin, he kissed his way up Brock's throat as Bucky made him gasp. "Shh, just give in. You beautiful man. Haven't you been alone long enough. Let me love you. Let us both take care of you, you deserve it." 

"I don't deserve any of this, but God help me, I'll _try_. I'll try. I feel so... _out of control_. It scares me." The fear in his eyes quickly passed as Steve kissed his forehead and traced his lips with the tip of a finger. Brock's toes curled as Barnes swallowed him to the root. 

"Huh. Funny, that's always how love make me feel." Steve sidled up to the headboard, his cock straining against the nylon. He pressed Brock's lips to the bulge. "Now, open wide. I've got a present for you. You like presents, don't you,  _Daddy._ "   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, don't say that he didn't warn them. 
> 
> Or I could just leave it here. We'll see.  
> Comments as always are treasured.


	17. Chapter 17

Brock licked a stripe up Steve's pantyhose sheathed cock and laughed. "Sure, I like presents." Brock flipped back the covers, Bucky's hair stood up on end from the static. "You get on down there with him and show me what your lips feel like. I think I've forgotten, it's been such a long time." Brock smacked Steve's ass with his palm. The crack was loud in the silence of the bedroom and Steve gasped. 

"I think I was doing fine down here." Barnes sniffed indignantly. 

"Selfish puppy, don't make me have you sleep on the floor." 

"Yeah, scoot over." Steve elbowed Barnes with a grin. The two young men bracketed Brock's legs and Brock put his arms behind his head, surveying his wealth of riches. 

"Now if you two don't get along, I'll have to punish--" Brock lost his train of thought as Steve took over with gusto. "I- I had a thought there, I know I did." 

Barnes walked his fingers up Brock's thigh, smirking. "You're thinking about how much trouble we're going to be. Sucks to be you, Daddy." 

Brock sat up and gave Barnes' hair a tug. "Speaking of sucking, you little slacker." Barnes batted his eyelashes winsomely and Brock knew he was in deep. That little bastard was wooing him and it was  _working_.

Brock closed his eyes and enjoyed their slurping and intermittent giggles. He was going to have so much fun breaking them to his will. If they didn't drain dry him first with their wicked mouths. Brock chuckled to himself, this wouldn't last forever so he might as well enjoy himself. They didn't really love him, he was just a new toy. Nothing ever lasted and really, he didn't deserve any of this, but if they wouldn't listen then his hands were clean.

He gave it 2 weeks at the most. 

\--

Nothing good ever happened at 4 am.

They gathered about the kitchen table with bleary eyes and in various stages of nudity. Brock never slept with clothes on, Steve loved ridiculous satin pajama sets and Barnes slept in whatever he wore that day. He only cared about piles of fluffy blankets. Barnes had taken to sleeping with Brock because they were both night owls and Steve had to be in bed by 10pm to be remotely functional in the morning. 

Brock pinched the bridge of his nose, the bleeding was starting to stop, he blinked his eyes. If the damn thing wasn't broken, he'd be lucky. Blood was pooling into the hollows under his eyes into wicked shiners. He dug in the freezer for a bag of peas to take the swelling down.  

"I _warned_ you. On the very first night. You've just been  _lucky_. He sleeps like he's fighting someone to the death." Steve poured a travel cup of coffee and tightened the lid. "And you never know when it will happen."

Barnes didn't say anything, he just looked at the floor and ran his hand down his prosthetic limb, guiltily. His plastic fingers were stained red with Brock's blood. Brock put the peas on his face and groaned. "I'll be fine. Thank god I don't have to do an outcall or a cam session though, Jesus Christ on a Cracker. I'm going to look like literal hell."

"You could wear a mask for the cam session. I think I've got a gorilla suit left over from Halloween." Brock flipped Steve off. "Suit yourself. I've got to be up at 6 anyway. I call first shower." Steve poured two more mugs of coffee, sat them on the table and tripped on his robe belt as he tried to kiss Bucky on the side of the head. He mildly swore and stumbled off to the bathroom mumbling about how no one listened to him. 

Brock sat down at the table. He looked at his bloody fingers, not an unfamiliar sight, but usually it wasn't _his_ blood. "So what was it?" He quietly asked Barnes, who still wasn't looking at him. Brock reached for his cup of coffee, a mug with unhappy kittens on it, and he spilled a bit on the table. 

"I'm sorry. About your face. I forget to take it off. It's just... such a part of me now." Barnes sighed. "The same damn dream. It's stupid. I should know better." He looked miserable, dark shadows beneath his eyes nearly as deep as Brock's inevitable black eyes. Brock had seen that look before. Hell, he'd worn it himself. The peas really felt good on Brock's battered face. The kid was  _strong._ He needed to remember that. 

"Have you talked to anyone about it?" 

Barnes ran his fingers over the collar around his throat. He hardly ever took the damn thing off, it was nearly a piece of his skin. He chewed out a SHIELD handler at a photo shoot once when they insisted that he take it off. "No. It's my burden to bear. Nobody really understands."

"Well that's some seriously melodramatic shit right there. You're not the only one who's got some baggage they brought back with them." Brock kicked at Barnes' shin under the table. "Try that bullshit on your shrink and your boyfriend. I'm not buying it." He'd worked too hard on this kid to just let a little PTSD wreck him.

"You sleep like the dead." Barnes groused jealously. "You snore like a buzzsaw, too. Nobody is fucking with your dreams." 

"I've made friends with the ghosts in my head. Or they know that I'm a whole hell of a lot more dangerous than they are." Brock picked a bit of blood out from under his fingernail. "How many kills?" 

"I don't want to--" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't remember."

"You're a sniper. You _know_." Seriously, this was really starting to hurt. And he was going to share that pain. Make Barnes feel as guilty as he should. "Spit it out, puppy."

"Twenty-three." He ticked off the number on his fingers slowly, vaguely horrified at each digit.  

"That's a fair number."

"How many for you?" Barnes looked up at him.

"Do you really want to know?" He nodded. "About a hundred." Give or take a dozen or two. Napalm was messy, inaccurate shit under the best of circumstances. 

"That's a lot." Barnes' mouth hung open. 

"Well, I was awful good at my job. And that's what it was, a _job_. It helps to look at it like that. Everyone wants to be good at their job." Brock leaned back in the chair. A drop of condensation dripped down his chest from the bag of frozen peas. Barnes' eyes tracked the dribble path across Brock's gnarled scar tissue.

He took a deep breath and confided, "I dream that I'm strapped down to a chair and there's all these people around me and they're going to hurt me. Really bad. I'm still missing my arm, but they've stapled a metal one into my skin and I struggle and I cry. But I can't escape. They tell me things in whispers. They blur together in mass of dark lumpy shadows and I'm so afraid. I'm so scared that I don't ever want to sleep again." Barnes slumped and laid his head on the table, he drew a star in the cold spilled coffee. "Then I forget. I forget and go back to sleep. Start all over again." 

Brock grimaced. "Sounds awful. Ever considered getting pissed off at the shadows? Maybe that would scare them off." It was good that Brock didn't really feel guilty about what he'd done over the years, he'd probably look just like Barnes did now. Guilt wasn't in his playbook, it was inconvenient. A waste of time.

"Never tried. Some times the pills help. Some times they don't." Barnes sighed miserably. "I feel so weak."

"When was the last time you went to the shooting range? Just to blow off some steam?" 

"I-- I've never thought about it." 

"That's a shame. You've got skills, might as well keep them sharp. How about you and I head out there today? Can't wait to see if you're as good as your press corps says you are." Brock leaned forward and let the bag of peas fall off his face into his hands. He smirked, stood up and searched for a frozen replacement for the peas. Ah, _corn_.

Barnes sat up and frowned. "Are you implying that I'm not sharp, old man? When's the last time you killed someone? The Jurassic period?" Oh, he was going to pay for that one. 

Brock returned to his seat, his legs spread in a wide stance, unashamed in his explicit nudity. He hefted the frozen corn in his hand. "About six months ago. Two quick thrusts to each lung, then one to each kidney, just for shits and giggles." He put the corn on his face and groaned at the blessedly frigid bliss. He tilted his head back.

"You're fucking with me." Barnes' voice was impatient and irritated.

"Am I?" Brock shrugged. " _That's your call_. But what we need to figure out here is exactly how can you make this up to me?" Brock pointed at his face. "I'll give you 30 seconds to figure it out. Starting _now_."

"I'll take over dish duty for two weeks. And take off my arm at night." That was a good start, but so _mundane_.

"And?" Brock prompted.

"And... and... Oh _fuck_. I'll rub your fucking feet when you ask me to." Barnes groaned. He  _hated_ touching feet, it was one of the few things that he refused to do even in a scene. He'd throw down his safe word and walk out of the room in a huff the moment Brock even wriggled his toes. 

"I'll hold you to that!  _And_?" Brock grinned like a cat with cream. 

"That's all you're getting! You greedy son of a bitch!" Barnes kicked at Brock under the table. "Didn't have to call an ambulance, you fucker! God fucking damn it! Fucking fuck fucking _FEET_!" Barnes stalked off to his bedroom and slammed the door. 

Brock started guffawing, the bag of corn slid off his face and landed on his bare crotch. "Motherfucker!" He cursed at the sudden rush of cold on his cock and his face throbbed at the sudden jolt. 

But to be honest, he probably deserved it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. MUCH. FLUFF.   
> Do you like it? *anxious nail chewing!*


	18. Chapter 18

The crisp fall air was just cold enough to justify scarves and hats, but the sunlight shone beautifully through the flaming foliage of the trees lining the street. Brock walked with Steve, arm in arm, each holding a steaming cup of coffee. Steve laughed at a terrible joke Brock told and took out his phone to snap a picture of themselves, but he stopped suddenly and Brock was left doing his best confused duck lips.

Steve sighed heavily, put his phone back in his pocket and kicked at some leaves. Brock looked down at him in concern.

"What's wrong? Barista get your order wrong?" He gestured to a bench and they sat down, setting their coffee aside. Steve crossed his ankles and stared down at his boots.

"No. Although she was looking hard enough at you."

"Really? I thought she only had eyes for you."

"Maybe, she liked my outfit." Steve smoothed his coppery corduroy skirt against his knit ecru tights and rewrapped his cranberry scarf embroidered with stars about the neck of his brown bomber jacket. He'd grown out his hair longer so that it peaked out artfully from his cap. A coat of mascara and some lipgloss finished his look. Brock though he looked beautiful and no one gave Steve a second glance on the busy street. "I bet she was trying to figure out if I was a guy or not. Should have worn the bra, I guess." 

"I like you dressed up both ways, Steve. You look particularly lovely today, my sweet. Ever think about getting your ears pierced?" Brock snuck a kiss in the soft hollow beneath Steve's ear. "You were admiring those earrings back at the artist fair." 

Steve leaned into Brock's arms and was silent, obviously lost in thought. Brock raised an eyebrow when after a few minutes Steve said, "Come on. Let's go home." 

"And end Date Day so soon? I'm feeling a bit cheated of my Steve time here." Brock pulled Steve closer and smelled the scent of his shampoo. "You're so dedicated to your work, it's rare that we get to spend time like this." Alone, without the jealous puppy demanding a piece of the action.  

"I know. I-- know." Steve plastered on a brave smile and patted Brock's face. "It's nothing. Nothing really." Steve was a shitty liar and Brock's patience was frayed. 

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Brock said in a harsh tone, his fingers clutched at Steve's jacket. 

"I said it was nothing. Let's go get something to take home for dinner. That way we can spend some  _quality_ time together." Steve's theatrical leer was almost comical. Did he really think that Brock was so easily distracted by the promise of some ass? Well, he  _was_ , but there were ways of making a reluctant man talk and Brock knew most of them. Never was very good in school, Brock was more of a _hands_ _on_ learner. 

"Sure thing. But let's stop by the Farmer's Market. I saw a stand that was selling some awesome veggies, I think might make a ginger-infused stir-fry..." 

++

Brock washed up the cutting board and cleaned his knives. Rows of matchstick sliced veggies were lined up ready for the wok. He picked up a large finger of fresh ginger root, smiled to himself and began peeling off the tough, fibrous skin, whittling it to his specifications. Brock started whistling. Steve had claimed car sickness and used that as an excuse to close his eyes and not talk on the ride home. Brock whistled louder, a cheerful little tune. That would not stand.

Steve was still staring at his phone in the living room, curled up on the couch with a pillow pressed against his chest. He looked despondent and paler than usual, not green and queasy after a spell of car-sickness. 

"So, Steve?" Brock put the phallically carved root in a bowl of cold water on the table and washed his hands. 

"Yeah?" His voice was muffled as he miserably pressed his mouth against the pillow.  

Brock dried his hands and called out in a casual way that didn't betray the depth of his cunning. "What's your safe word?" 

" _Brooklyn_. But I'm not ready yet, I haven't even showered since we got home." Steve flopped back on the couch and wriggled his tights-clad toes.

Oh, it was _on_. "See, I don't fucking care about that. Get over here,  _Stella._ " Brock snapped his fingers and crossed his arms, making him wait would end badly. Steve sighed and slouched on over to Brock in the kitchen. His blonde hair was mussed from the knit cap and he looked at his feet with none of his usual fight or vigor. Brock's heart rose in his throat and he swallowed it back down. _Damn it Steve_. Brock circled Steve, studying him. "Look at you. You're such pretty little slut. Parading all over town. I admit it,  I like what I see."

"Thanks?" Steve cracked a small, wry smile. "I like it too." 

Brock laid his hands on Steve's small shoulders and squeezed. "But I don't like how disobedient you are. _No_. Not at all."

"But I haven't, I haven't disobeyed you. We just _started_." Steve stammered, confused. 

"You're a deceitful lying little bitch and you need to be reminded of your place." Brock seized Steve's wrists, Steve's feet slipped on the floor and Brock dragged him along the linoleum to a kitchen chair. He sat down and looked at his pet on the floor. Usually that's where Barnes ended up when he was being particularly spiteful. There was an engraved dog bowl with the name  _Bucky_ on it in one of the cabinets. 

Steve looked up angrily. "Oh yeah? What is my  _place_? Are you going to put me in it?" Brock hauled him up off the floor and over his lap. Part of the reason Steve was so attractive to him was that he could be man-handled like this. Hauled around and restrained with a minimum of effort. It made Brock feel powerful. He flipped up the skirt and massaged Steve's cheeks with firm, demanding hands through the tights. Steve struggled a bit, but eventually sighed and relaxed into Brock's grasp. "I guess this isn't a bad place to be..."

"Oh it's going to get worse." Brock pulled down the waistband of the tights, exposing Steve's pale, pert ass. He stroked Steve's pucker with a spit-slicked finger and grinned at how eagerly Steve opened up to receive him.  He plucked the ginger root from the cold water and pressed it up inside, the carved ridge keeping it from being sucked all the way inside.

"What the hell was that?" Steve gasped as the slow tingling burn started to spread within him.

"Ginger." Rumlow petted his smooth skin, measuring his ass with a wide palm. "Does it burn terribly?" 

"I-- I could do this all day." Steve gritted out, but his hips started to squirm, both to escape the ginger plug and to grind his hardening cock against Brock's muscular thigh. 

"Give it a few moments." Brock hummed a low soothing tune and when Steve tensed up, trying to expel the ginger and escape his torment, he spanked Steve with a firm crack of his hand. Rhythmic blows that reddened Steve's skin and jostled the plug to stimulate new areas. 

"Gah!" Steve groaned, "Oh god. Please stop!" 

"Not until you tell me what you are keeping from me. You've been lying to me. Now, tell me. _Confess_." More slaps, Steve kicked his feet in the air, impotently trying to escape. "I'll make it all better when you do... Don't you want to feel better, my sweet?"

"No!" Steve screwed his eyes shut and sobbed. " _I_ _don't_   _deserve to feel better._ "

Brock twirled the plug with his fingers, Steve shuddered and shook on his lap from the torment. " _Tell_ _me_." Brock cooed.

Wretched sobs racked Steve and tears ran down his face. It wasn't the spanking or even the ginger that was torturing him, it was his guilt. "I don't... I don't know how!" 

"Tell me and I'll take the ginger out... And I'll let you come. Think about how good that will feel, how confession is good for your soul. There's nothing in this world that would make me think any less of you, my dear, but I have no problem beating the truth right out of you." Another smack. "I love you. And you can't keep secrets from me. It will make you sick inside. Tear you up and make your head spin. I can help you, help you make it right." And Brock wasn't lying, he meant every word. 

"I'll tell you, I promise! Just let, me oh please Brock let me come! I promise, I promise!" Steve cried out, jerking his hips hard against Brock's leg. 

Brock plucked out the ginger and tossed it in the trash bin near the sink. He turned Steve over, cradled him in his arms and wrapped a fist around his cock. Brock whispered in Steve's ear as he stroked the young man's cock, "I believe you. I trust you. And you'll do as I say." Steve pressed his face against Brock's chest and cried out as his orgasm hit, he shuddered and globs of semen dotted his rumpled tights and skirt. Brock indulgently let Steve catch his breath and when his breathing slowed, Brock kissed his forehead. 

Steve stood up on wobbly legs and pulled up his filthy tights. He retrieved his phone and sunk to his knees on the kitchen floor.  "I'm being blackmailed." Steve handed Brock his phone, then hung his head in shame and sadness. There was a photo of Steve, battered and bruised, spread wide. The caption read, _I'm serious. Send the money._ Brock's blood instantly boiled with jealousy and possessiveness. He dug his fingers into his own thigh and took a deep breath. Who the  _fuck_ did this idiot think he was messing with his boys? 

"Who is blackmailing you?" He tried to keep his tone light, to keep the rage out of his voice. 

"Remember the first night we met? All the... all the bruises? That guy. He's blackmailing me. He's threatening to send these photos to my employer. I might lose my security clearance! I just, I just don't know what to do!" Steve sighed heavily and then with increasing ferocity said, "I suppose I'll have to go to the cops. It's the right thing to do. And I'm not going to give my retirement fund to a sleazy, no good, rotten, mean, evil, sadistic  _hustler!_ " Steve leaned up against Brock. "I'm really glad you _encouraged_ me to talk to you, Brock. I haven't told Bucky because... well he'd probably do something stupid trying to save me."

"Of course. I'm always here for you. What is the asshole's name?" So he could go piss on that fucker's mother's grave. 

"He goes by Jasper. This is his site..." Brock quietly observed and petted the soft hair that curled around Steve's ears. "Hun?" Steve asked, he turned his face up towards Brock.

"Mmhmm?" Brock nodded, still looking at the evidence on the phone and contemplating his plan for vengeance. 

"You're _smiling_. Why are you smiling?"

Brock quickly covered, "Well, you look really hot in this picture for one thing. We should use it for Christmas cards." Steve elbowed his leg. "Ouch! I'm thinking about how beautiful you are, and how lucky I am to have you, to have both of you, in my life." He looked at the man named Jasper's face and thought about how it would look without eyelids or nostrils. His boot knife would work well, the switchblade in his pants pocket would be even better. Properly restrained, he could get 4 to 5 hours of excruciating torture in before the hit bled out. Yeah, that seemed about right.

A fitting punishment for hurting  _his_  Steve. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel the burn Steve.  
> I'll give Brock credit for creativity at the Farmers Market.
> 
> Thoughts? (It really was terrible, wasn't it?)


	19. Chapter 19

It had been about a week since Steve's confession and Brock hadn't wasted anytime planning his vengeance. The police wouldn't do anything, they never did. There was only one way to be sure that this Jasper character never troubled their lives again. Brock had a plan.

"So where are you off to?" Barnes leaned against the door frame, Brock hadn't heard him approach. Brock zipped up his duffel bag full of clean clothes, rope, latex gloves and his knife roll. He smiled tightly to himself in the dim light of his bedroom. Nothing to see here, puppy. Nothing at all.

"Got an outcall. Real big spender. Likes to be told when he can take a piss, which no spoilers here, is pretty much _never_." Brock grinned, hefting his duffel bag. Not too heavy, nothing that couldn't be replaced later. He was actually looking forward to this, he really was. There was nothing like the sweet feeling of righteous mayhem.

"That sounds awful." Barnes frowned. He threaded a finger through the D-ring on his collar and tugged on it gently, a nervous tic. 

"Well, I kinda like watching a grown man squirm in desperation, begging for release. No judgement here just as long as I get paid, right?" Brock tried to leave the room, but Barnes blocked his way. His hair hung lankly about his face and Brock reached out, then pushed it out of his eyes. His hand lingered on Barnes' cheek for a moment and he looked away at the floor.  "Oh come on Barnes, out of the way. I'm on a schedule here." 

Softly, Barnes asked, "Do you want me to drive?" 

"No, why would I? I called a cab." Brock shrugged. Why was he asking so many questions? They'd done this before. 

"You called a cab. Instead of taking the hybrid..." Barnes tipped his head back against the doorframe and crossed his arms. 

"Yeah, not sure if I'll be back tonight or not." 

"You never spend the night with clients." He shook his head, "Until us, that is..."

"Right. I don't. I'm able to make a hotel reservation on my own though. I'm a big boy, Barnes." Brock tried to push past Barnes, but the younger man resisted and shut the door behind them. 

"You _forgot_." His voice was full of sadness and accusation. He held up his chin and stared Brock in the eyes, the dim light of the lamp caught his blue eyes and made them glimmer.

Brock set the duffel bag down on the floor. "What did I forget?" 

"Tonight is  _our_ night." Oh fucking hell. _It was_. It was his designated time alone with Barnes. He'd forgotten in his haste to go exterminate Jasper, how could he have forgotten that? There was no way that Barnes would let him leave the house without a fuss. They'd negotiated these nights months ago to give Brock time to think up scenes and to organize the triad's time more efficiently with less hurt feelings. Brock had fucked up. Perhaps Barnes could be distracted, hell it was worth a try.

Brock wrapped his hands about Barnes' hips and pulled him in close. He lavished kisses up the side of his collared throat and then embraced Bucky, running his fingers up the back of his neck and through his hair. "Look, I'll make it up to you _sweetheart_." He claimed Bucky's mouth and kissed him with all the fondness and goodwill his black heart could muster. Barnes was _his_ and the thought of losing him was suddenly very painful. "I will. I promise." 

"What the fuck is up with you? You never... you never do _that_." Barnes uttered against his lips, then turned his head with his eyes screwed shut. 

He didn't, did he? "Well, maybe I should start." Another kiss, then another. They ended up against the door frame, limbs entangled and breathing hard. 

Barnes tried to push Brock away, but his effort was half-hearted at most. "Don't fuck with me Brock. Just _don't_. You don't  _care_ about me in that way." Brock shook his head and rested his forehead against Barnes'. 

"Maybe I've had a epiphany Barnes. Maybe you're more precious to me than I'd ever let anyone know, because if I admitted that, then you could be taken away from me. And I don't want to lose you, I don't want to lose either of you. You just make it so goddamn hard." Barnes arched into his arms and kissed him passionately, streaks of tears running down his face. He wiped them off with the back of his hand. 

"Have to make you work for it, otherwise you'll take me for granted, Old Man." He sniffled and nuzzled his face against Brock's chest. They stood that way for a while, listening to the rush of blood in their ears, absorbing the reality of their confessions. 

Brock finally spoke, "You are a royal pain in my ass Barnes." 

"You don't have a client Brock." Brock blinked in surprise. "Steve told me about his situation. About the blackmail. This is _my fault._ All of the television interviews, the magazine profiles... my stupid choices made us a target. I can't blame Steve, he did everything he could to be discreet, but I dragged him into the public eye. It is my fault." Guilt weighed heavily on Barnes and Brock held him close, feeling as uncomfortable and angry about Barnes' distress as he did about Steve's. 

"Well? What are you going to do about it?" Brock kissed the top of Barnes' head. This fucker was going to die even slower now, just because of the pain he'd inflicted on Barnes. And for inconveniencing Brock, he'd wasted a week tailing that asshole while wearing shitty clothes and baseball hats. Jasper wasn't a sniper, he wasn't aware of a thing. 

"I'm going to help you do whatever you were planning tonight. Going to go scare him?"

 _For starters._ "Scare the piss right out of him."

"I'd like to see that." Barnes clutched Brock's shirt with his prosthetic hand and grimly stated. "Nobody messes with  _our_ Steve. Nobody fucks with our _family._ "  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short update today, looking forward to the mayhem later!
> 
> And of course, BUCKY NO.


	20. Chapter 20

Brock glanced at the clock. He still had time to pull this off. Sure, he'd have to take the car now, instead of a cab, but that was within mission parameters. "Hey, let's have some coffee before we leave, okay? Don't want to get sleepy and wrap ourselves around a tree. Meet you in the kitchen." He slapped Barnes on the ass and smiled. "I'll be in a few, gotta piss." He put his hand on his zipper pointedly.

"I think I'd rather rub feet than watch that." Barnes pulled a face and left, his hand shoved deep in his hoodie pockets.

Brock dug in his bag and pulled out a plastic packet. He turned it over in his fingers. This was for the best, he told himself. He had to believe that. He rubbed the bridge of his nose where Barnes had cold-cocked him with his prosthetic arm. This wouldn't help the boy sleep at night. He was too soft, too tender to recover from any further trauma. Brock once wished that he could hurt him, make him feel all the pain that being weak in this cruel world would get him, but not now. You couldn't wish that on anyone you loved. 

Brock was the weak one now. 

Brock filled the kettle, prepped the paper filter and divided up portions of ground beans. He hid Barnes' cup behind his body as he added a white powdery substance to the bottom of his mug. "I'm so fucking angry at this asshole. I feel _victimized_ and that's unacceptable."

"You know, this shitty experience makes me remember the first time that I felt... _wronged_. I mean really violated, nothing petty as a grudge." The kettle whistled. "It was right before the gas tank explosion. I was on administrative leave, which is what they call it when they're trying to decide if taking you down will take any of them with you." A scoop of grounds in the paper filter, balanced in the ceramic cone. "I was in a bar off base, drinking my cares away. There was this guy, too old for me but still good looking in a tanned blonde way, he offered to buy me a drink. Said that I was gorgeous and a real lady-killer." 

"I bet lots of people do that for you." Barnes leaned on his hand and tapped his leg with his prosthetic fingers. 

"I'm a people person. What can I say? I was just drunk enough to let him feel up my leg and tell me that he was so impressed with my hair. But he wasn't my type and if I was going to risk getting outed by fucking someone, I might as well be  _into_ them. So I stumbled over to the jukebox and picked a song that I can't listen to now." The kettle whistled. "I change the radio station _every_ single time. Which is a shame because that was a fucking _good_ song..." Brock poured the boiling water over the grounds, the scent of coffee filled his nose. "Then I came back over to the bar and tossed back my free drink. Because it was free." 

Brock brought Barnes his mug and watched him take a sip. "Want some of that crappy pumpkin spice creamer?" 

"Yes, please. And it's not crappy. It's  _autumnal_." Brock poured the chemical syrup into Barnes' cup, "You were saying?" Brock never talked about his past and he knew that Barnes craved the small bits of his history that Brock chose to share with him. Just a few more minutes. 

"Well I woke up with my face down in a motel pillow covered in vomit and my pants around my ankles. I wasn't really coherent, but that didn't stop me from beating the living shit out of Undersecretary Pierce. Asshole was slumming it. And I was an sloppy, easy target. So he thought. My stupid stomach came in handy, I guess. It was only a couple of hours instead of a whole night." Brock combed his fingers through his hair and shrugged.

"That's awful. I'm-- sorry." He drained the rest of his coffee. "I can see how that could really-- Wait, Brock why? Why are you telling me this?" Realization suddenly dawned on him. "You drugged me? Why?!"

"Well, because I don't think you're up to this mission, my pet. And you're stubborn. So fucking stubborn. I wish I'd had ten of you under my command, you've got the heart of a lion. Your head is really going to hurt in the morning, but your conscience will be clear. You're not cut from the same rough cloth as I am. You can't do this."

"But you're just-- going to scare him? Steal his computer? Right?" Barnes' mug tumbled to the floor and shattered. Brock picked up Barnes, limp as a ragdoll and walked him to his bedroom, arranging his head so that he wouldn't choke on his vomit. "Bro--" 

"Sure sweetheart. What ever helps you sleep at night. Remember, I've made peace with the ghosts in my head. They don't scare me because I'm scarier than they are. If I have to burn the world down to save you from pain I'll light the fucking match. Remember that." Steve would be home soon, Brock needed to go before he returned. Brock leaned down and said in Barnes' ear, "I do love you. I've just got a funny way of showing it." He kissed Barnes' cheek. "So if things go tits up, think about that. I've killed for worse reasons." 

Barnes reached feebly towards him, his eyes unfocused and glassy. Brock took his hand and quickly kissed the fingers, then steeled himself. "Gotta go, James. Gotta go." He stood up, grabbed his duffel bag, walked to the front door and shut it behind him. He quickly texted Steve so that he wouldn't call an ambulance unless it was needed, Steve was going to kill him. They probably wouldn't even want him back. 

That was fine. That was okay. He was still going to defend them. His country had told him to fuck off after he'd given everything he had to it, two sweet boys couldn't compare with that devastation. He was broken and hollow, but he had known love. At least for a little while. And that was _enough_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffle* Stupid murdering drugging asshole Brock.  
> What did you think?


	21. Chapter 21

"Stop being such a fucking chickenshit," Brock scolded himself as he reached up to knock on the door. Brock took a deep breath and knocked on the front door. He heard feet running towards him and Steve threw open the door.

"You stupid fucker!" Steve pounded on Brock's chest with balled up fists. "How could you do that!? How could you drug him? How could you fucking  _leave us_?" Brock let him pound on him until Steve was out of breath and panting. "You-- you  _scared_  me!" Tears welled up in Steve's eyes and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I-- never should have told you! I thought I could trust you!"

"Steve, you know who I am. You know most of my past and I couldn't-- I couldn't let you deal with this on your own. The police won't do shit for people like us. Trust me, I know. I had fucking cigarette burns on my thighs and they still wouldn't prosecute that asshole. They wanted to arrest _me_ for assault!" Steve looked simultaneously confused and horrified. "Wait, you don't know that story. Hell, I'm full of ditties like that. I'm a goddamn trauma piñata." 

"So yeah. These are for you." Brock opened up his bag and presented Steve with a phone, a laptop and a handful of thumb-drives. "I think this is everything. I thought you'd be the best expert, make sure that nothing was stored somewhere online... I'm sorry I made you worry. Good-bye." Brock touched Steve's cheek fondly, with tears in his eyes and turned to leave. He could start over, he still could turn heads, but it might feel a lot more hollow now.

That was the trouble with touching heaven, you just kept reaching for more once you fell.

Steve put the electronics on the floor and grabbed a handful of Brock's shirt, arresting his leave. "Oh no you  _don't_. You don't get to do the easy thing and walk the fuck out on us. Oh no. You get to apologize to Bucky, you get to hold his hair back as he pukes his guts out. You get to tell him that you'll never do anything like this again. You-- You huge asshole! I'm so fucking angry at you I could spit!"

"You-- want me to stay?" Brock hated the quaver in his voice, full of hope and yearning. "You still  _want_ me?"

"That's up to Bucky. I'll go along with whatever he decides. You  _drugged_ him. Why would you do that!"

"Because I love him!" Brock snapped and rubbed his face. "And he loves _you_ more than his next breath. And if I let him go with me, if I let him get mired in what I did, then he'd be broken, Steve! Poor bastard is probably sleeping well for the first time since his surgeries. So don't scream at me for doing what was  _right._ I barely know the meaning of that stupid word anymore."

Steve let go of Brock's shirt and stared the much taller man down. "Get your ass inside. The neighbors are probably watching and I'm not answering any of those questions at the block party." Steve picked up the electronics and sat them on the table. "Now go check on Bucky! He's been moaning for the last hour for you."

Brock pointed with his thumb behind him, "I have something in the trunk that I need to take care of..."

"It can FUCKING WAIT." Steve pointed emphatically at the bedroom without looking up from the screen. He muttered to himself in a string of garbled profanity as he banged on the keys. "Get in there!" Brock caught himself from reflexively saluting, he would never live that down.

"Um, okay. I guess it can wait then." Brock grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet and wet it with cool water. He sat on the bed next to Barnes and put the cool rag on his forehead. Then he waited, watching Barnes' thick dark eyelashes flutter against his cheek. "Hey puppy. How you feeling?" 

"If I could move, I'd strangle you." Barnes rasped out. "How long?" 

Brock indulgently petted Barnes' hair and shrugged. "Oh, about eight hours give or take. It's not an exact science. Hey, at least you didn't puke." 

"I've run out of ways to tell you _fuck off."_ Barnes blinked as if his eyes were painful and leaned his head into Brock's hand. "Why are you here?" 

"I'm done with the mission. And Steve ordered me in here. You get to decide if I stay or if I go." There was a pause, too long of a pause. Brock swallowed nervously, unwilling to beg or plead for forgiveness. He had done the right thing and if he was to be punished for it, well, it wouldn't be the first time that fate had fucked him over. 

"Do you want to stay?" Barnes asked in a small, weak voice. 

Brock's stomach lurched and he admitted, "Yes. Yes I do. I can't imagine living without you two." All of his cheap, fragile bravado, that's all it was. He'd do anything to stay.

"I have conditions." Barnes held up a finger, then two, then three finally opening his whole hand. "Many of them." 

"Name them." Brock gathered Barnes into his arms and pressed his face against Barnes'. His heart was beating hard enough to burst out of his chest. His breath was labored and he clutched the young man tight. "Anything." 

"You're going to fucking regret that. But I'm holding you to it. No more foot rubs, for starters. I never have to touch your nasty feet again, ever. No licking, no toe sucking, no foot fetish freaky shit ever again. Got it?"

"I can live with that." Brock laughed, his eyes filled with tears. His laughter turned into sobs and he messily cried into Barnes' collared neck, soaking his hoodie.

Barnes sighed. "I'll come up with more later, but I really gotta piss. And I can't make my legs work right." He twitched. "You _bastard_." 

Brock hauled Barnes upright and helped him to the bathroom, the young man eventually getting his footing. Brock washed his face and stinging eyes with splashes of cold water. "You're really going to make me work for it, aren't you?" 

"You're gonna wish that I told you to hit the road." Barnes laughed roughly, zipping up his fly and trying not to topple headfirst into the commode. "You're  _mine_ Brock. Well, I guess we have to share you. But Steve's going to be worse than me, he doesn't forgive as easily as I do. You should have known better. You fucking whack-job." Barnes wobbled. "Now help me out to the couch, I need something for my head. Maybe a _guillotine_. Jesus Christ, people take this shit for  _fun?_ " His sardonic banter was punctuated with a whine. Brock knew that he'd be back to his old self in no time. But Brock's punishment was just beginning and honestly he was fucking looking forward to it. 

"So I think I got everything. Looks like I wasn't the first person that piece of trash was blackmailing. I took care of that too. Are you sure you got everything, Brock?" Steve looked up from the laptop screen as Brock helped Bucky to the couch and covered him up with a blanket. Steve's severe expression softened a little as Brock murmured something soothing to his boyfriend and Barnes smiled, then rolled his eyes. 

"Yes, I think I did. I was  _persuasive."_ Brock filled up a glass of water and made sure that Bucky drank the whole thing, then he ruffled his hair. "I really have to take care of the matter in the trunk. You two should talk while I'm gone." 

"So you're coming back then? Bucky, you're okay with this moron being with us?" Steve rapped his fingers on the table in a rapid tattoo. Barnes nodded assent. "If you don't come back,  I'm selling all your shit on Ebay. Just keep that in mind Brock, just in case you decide to turn tail and run."

"You're holding my wardrobe hostage? You ruthless little fucker." The tears were starting to well up again and Brock covered by turning to the door. "Those shoes are Italian, don't set the starting bid too low."

"One fucking dollar, _Little Daddy_." Barnes chirped up behind him as he closed the door. "And I'll throw in the sex toys for free!" 

++

Brock got in the car and drove to his favorite secluded abandoned construction site. He'd made so many memories here. Steve thought that he hadn't worked with the Mafia, but just because he didn't become a part of the family didn't mean that he hadn't been an excellent  _freelancer_. He turned off the hybrid and released the trunk latch. 

"Hey there Jasper." Brock snapped on a pair of gloves. He rattled the thick plastic sheeting covering the badly beaten man. "Tonight is your lucky night, my man."

Jasper's eyes fluttered and his mouth worked impotently against the gag between his lips. His face was a mottled tapestry of bruises that made Brock think of that fateful first night with Steve. Their first date. Brock smiled fondly and dragged Jasper out of the trunk, over to the edge of a deep partially dug pylon hole.

He squatted next to the bound man. "You know, I was going to flay you. Literally strip the skin from your body until you bled out. I was really looking forward to it. Like a kid on Christmas morning. But then I got to thinking, that's not really me anymore. Love has changed me, man, made me into a _better_ person. So instead of torturing you for trying to hurt my family, I'm just going to bury you _alive."_ Jasper started thrashing in panic, the whites of his eyes flashing in the gloom.

"Okay, okay." Brock affectionately patted Jasper's head, "I'll stab you a few times first. You know, for old times sake." For a moment, Jasper looked almost grateful for that small mercy, then the dim moonlight caught the edge of Brock's favorite switchblade as he thumbed the release and Jasper screamed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? 
> 
> Bwhahaha!


	22. Chapter 22

It had been two weeks, three days and 10 hours since either of the boys had touched him.

Not a single kiss, not a random caress. Barnes wasn't sleeping with him and his bed had never felt so lonely. Brock tried to hide how much that unnerved him. He thought that Bucky had forgiven him for the whole drugging incident, but when he tried to put on a brave front, he felt it crumbling. 

He still made silent breakfast for all of them, conversations were limited to the humdrum activities of daily living. He took more outcalls than he usually did to compensate, but those were mere distractions from the ache in his chest. It hurt worse than that incident with the car battery in Tripoli. When he caught himself silently crying during a cam session, he knew it was time to go. 

He packed his bags, neatly made his bed and set his jaw. He'd be fine. He didn't  _need_ them. He fucking didn't. 

"So, you're not going to say a word? You're just going to run away like a chickenshit?" Barnes asked from the overstuffed recliner in the living room. 

"What do you want me to say?" Rumlow looked at the carpeted floor and sighed. "Neither of you have touched me in two weeks. I've been counting the days. Hell, I've been counting the fucking minutes!" he hissed between his teeth. 

"Remember when I told you that you'd wish that I'd have just let you walk?" Barnes looked at him with hooded blue eyes. 

"Yeah. You've done a bang up job so far keeping that promise." 

Barnes slowly unbuckled the collar from around his neck and Brock swallowed hard. He had thought that he could handle anything, but  _not this._ Barnes tossed the collar at Brock's feet and watched him. 

"So, you're breaking up with me. I get it. Keep the collar. It doesn't belong to me any more." Brock turned on his heel and walked towards the door. He might make it back to the city without killing someone, but the odds weren't good. 

"Actually, I was thinking it might look good on  _you_ for a change." Barnes tossed his hair back and smiled at Brock. 

Brock laughed, harshly. "You're kidding."

"Nope." Barnes looked down at his book and turned a page. "Think of this as a challenge. Think you're up to it, Old Man?" The nonchalance in his voice made Brock's fists itch. "Can't handle it? There's the door. It would be a shame though," he turned another page in his book. "We could have so much fun together. You, me and Steve. Just like old times." 

"But, I... I'm not like  _you._ I don't... enjoy submission. It doesn't do anything for me." Brock dropped his bags, stooped over and picked up the supple leather collar. He ran his thumb over the stamped initials. "I'm not wired that way." 

"Never met a military man who wasn't good at taking orders or at least pretending to be. Why not just give it a try? I'm not going to break your arm over it. You know I'm not a cruel man, I'm not very good at inflicting pain. This will be a cakewalk for you."

Brock looked severely at Barnes. He might not be good at flogging, but _sure as shit_ Barnes knew how to make Brock suffer. He twirled the collar in his fingers as deftly as he would flip a knife, running his options through his head. He was a professional after all, he could pretend to be all bottom-happy get back in their good graces. He missed the sweetness of their kisses upon his lips, the sound of Barnes' breathing in the dark and Steve's keening cries of delight.  _Be honest with yourself, you asshole_ , Brock thought,  _you'd do anything to touch them again._ _  
_

Brock ran his tongue over his neat white teeth and stared Barnes in the eyes. Silently, defiantly, Brock buckled the collar around his neck. It felt strangely _heavy._

Barnes let the book fall from his lap as he stood up and sauntered to Brock. He looked the older man up and down, then ran his hand over the collar. His fingers brushed against the skin of Brock's neck and Brock was startled at the whimper that came from his throat at that slight ghost of a touch. His body was betraying him. 

"It could be  _tighter._ " Barnes said with a tight smile and Brock had to remind himself to keep breathing. "What's your safe-word, darling?" 

"Oh, like you could do anything to me that would make me whip my safe-word out." Brock blustered. 

"Humor me." Barnes licked his lips wetly. 

Brock gulped, suddenly more uncomfortable and off-balance than he'd ever admit. " _Pistachio_." Barnes nodded and continued circling him, taking in all of his new toy. "Like I'll say _that_ again, fucker." 

"We'll see. We'll see. _Attention_!" It was humiliating how fast his muscles remembered and reacted to that command. "I gotta say, you're looking mighty good for a senior citizen. Did you remember to take your meds this morning?" 

"Fuck off Barnes. I could pound your ass until you cried like a baby without breaking a sweat." Brock sassed Barnes, not moving an inch from his stance. Barnes kicked at his feet, widening his stance and then cupped the cheek of his ass with his flesh hand. He ran his prosthetic hand up Brock's neck and then clutched at his hair, tugging more gently than Brock would have done. "Stop messing up my hair, you bastard."

"You know, I like the way you think Brock." Barnes whispered in his ear, "On your knees, Old Man. On your knees!" 

Brock gritted his teeth and knelt on the carpet, staring at the sturdy coat rack behind the door. "Hey, remember the coat rack? Good times. Good times." He simpered nastily, "Think you can come up with anything that creative?" He heard the zip on his satchel open. Oh, the naughty puppy was pinching his toys. 

"I remember. Good times indeed. I remember _this_." The bite of a crop stung through Brock's pants and he winced in spite of himself. _Fuck_ that stung. Another blow, right over the first one. Had the kid been practicing?

"Damn it. Don't be expecting me to pop a boner because this shit doesn't turn me on, I've told you that." Now the closeness of Barnes, the smile playing across his lips... that was another story.  _Shit_. 

Barnes laughed. "Oh that's fine. I'm not really worried about your cock Brock. This is all for _me_. You can't expect me to forgive and forget that easily. Think of it as your penance. Nothing as easy as a hundred Hail Marys." Another blow, this time across the shoulders. 

"I'm not fucking Catholic, you moron!" The lashes were really starting to burn. 

"I'm sure you have sins to repent for. Take off your shirt." 

Brock snorted. "Just a tip from a pro, it's usually better to have the client get naked before you start in on them. Because if you've torn this shirt, I'm gonna take it out of your hide later." Barnes shrugged with loose limbs, utterly relaxed. Brock frowned, "You have no fucking clue about what I've done in my life." He took off his shirt and neatly folded it. "No fucking clue." 

Barnes traced a scar that ran down Brock's flank with the crop. "I'm sorry? You were saying something?" He struck the tender flesh over Brock's ribs with a series of blows, some teasing.... Brock's eyes watered... some not so teasing. "I'm not really paying attention to what's coming out of your pretty mouth Brock. Unless it's begging. I like begging."

"I thought you said you weren't any good at this pain play shit. You seem to be enjoying yourself,  _asshole._ " 

"I said that I wasn't any good with it on _Steve_. Now you, big guy..." Barnes wound his fist in Brock's hair, then he pressed his crotch against Brock's mouth. "I think you can take it." Brock looked up at Barnes with murder in his eyes and Barnes laughed. "Feel free to safeword out, if you need to, _princess_." 

"You better learn how to use those restraints," Brock said with his mouth mashed against Barnes' erection. He shifted his powerful muscles and cracked his knuckles. "'Cause you might have bitten off more than you could chew,  _boy._ "

Barnes tapped Brock's nose with two fingers as if he were a naughty dog caught growling. "We'll get there soon, _princess_. You've been such a good teacher and I've been paying attention. Making a list of things to check off... The big problem was getting you to agree to this. You've got an ego as big as the Empire State building." He ran his plastic hand down Brock's spine and Brock bit his lip. 

"And I've got a cock to match." Brock couldn't resist the bravado. This was intriguing. Barnes was a manipulative little shit at the best of times, but he'd wormed his way into Brock's black shriveled heart. And if Steve had made this a condition to stay with _him_ then Brock could endure anything. Even clumsy attempts at domination by a puppy. "Bring it on Barnes. _Fucking_ _bring_ _it_ _on_." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. This can only end badly.


	23. Chapter 23

Hands bound behind him, kneeling and as bare as the day he was born, Brock stared up at Bucky and sneered. "Oh come on, Sunshine! Are you even _trying_ here?" Sweat dripped down his face and made his nose itch. That was the worst torment he'd endured this entire session. It wasn't as if the kid wasn't enthusiastic, he just wasn't even close to breaking Brock. "You do know that I had to undergo STRIKE anti-torture training, right? I could do this all day." 

Barnes laughed, his cheeks were flushed red and he was obviously enjoying the hell out of himself. "Babe, I'm just killing time here. Steve should be home from shopping," he cupped his ear and Brock heard the sound of a car door slamming, "Right about _now_." 

Brock started to panic. The idea of Steve seeing him like this made his heart pound and his gorge threaten to rise. "You let me go  _right now_ motherfucker," he said in a low growl, "Right the fuck now!" He struggled against his bonds, stupid kid had tightened them when Brock taunted him about his slackness.  

Bucky crouched down, cocked his head to the side and said in a sing-song voice, "You could always use your  _safe word._ " The mocking tone steeled Brock's spine and he bit his lip. 

"Fuck you Barnes. I look better like this than you ever did." Bucky pushed at the back of his neck and Brock got a mouthful of carpet after he tipped over. He didn't make an effort to get back up, at least this way he didn't have to look Steve in the eyes. A slow creeping flush started at his heart and crept all the way up to his face. 

Barnes straddled him and traced the scar tissue on his back with his black plastic fingers. "He's never seen you vulnerable like this, has he? He's never cleaned up your puke in the shower or gotten your head stapled up after a bar fight. You're this unwavering dominant force of nature in his mind," Barnes licked his flesh fingers and reached back to slowly circle Brock's tightly clenched hole. Brock ducked his head and tried to force his face through the carpet. "But I bet you'd be so pretty begging us to fill you up. So _pretty_. My sweet stubborn princess."

The door opened and Steve walked in, arms full of grocery bags. He stopped dead in his tracks and clutched the bags tightly to his body. Barnes wound his fingers in Brock's hair and pulled his head up so that Brock couldn't hide and asked, "Did you get _lost_? Took you long enough to get back." 

Steve blinked his big blue eyes, blonde hair peeking out under his knit cap. He was wearing a deep blue circle skirt that swished against his thighs and his brown leather jacket. He looked heartbreakingly beautiful to Brock. Steve turned on his heels and without a word, walked into the kitchen and set down the bags. 

Bucky stood up and gave Brock's red striped ass a quick slap. "Looks like I better help put away the groceries. As you were, Rumlow." Brock's ears burned red with humiliation and he cursed a blue streak under his breath. Professional or not, he was just about ready to burn this place to the ground.

Not a word. Not a single word. Was Brock that unimportant to Steve? Barnes was obviously still into him, but Steve's indifference cut worse than his favorite switchblade. He'd killed for that boy. Well, to be honest, that was just an convenient excuse, a justification. Brock closed his eyes and thought about Jasper's blood-sopped gurgling screams. He smiled and relived the moments in his mind. 

Lost in his reveries, Brock didn't notice that Steve was standing over him, taking in every scar, every reddening bruise. He startled as gentle fingers petted his hair and lingered on his cheek. Brock opened his eyes and Steve sank down on his knees, his skirt pooling on the floor around him. So beautiful. 

"So. You were going to leave. Without telling me." Steve's brows knitted and he bit his pink lip, blinking sadly. "Why would you do that to me? To _us_?" Brock leaned into Steve's soft touch and felt ashamed at his cowardice. Steve caressed the skin of his neck, stroking the leather of the collar buckled there. "Didn't you promise me that you'd never do that?"

He had promised. He had. Brock scrunched his face up and struggled weakly against his bonds. "You-- you guys didn't-- I thought you were tired of me.  Or mad. Or something! I don't know!" Brock spit out. 

"You never said anything. Sure, I was pissed off at you. Because of the whole  _drugging Bucky_ incident, you asshole. But you don't stop loving someone the moment they do something fucking stupid." Steve sighed, exasperated. "I had a huge project to deal with and I guess I just let myself get distracted. I apologize for being not there for you. I'm sorry, Brock." Steve ran his hands over Brock's broad scarred shoulders, petting and stroking him as if he were an animal to be soothed. It was  _effective._

"I'm _not_ _sorry_!" Barnes chimed in from the kitchen. "That was the worst hangover of my life, worse than Jaeger bombs on my twenty-first. You better believe that I plan on taking that out of your ass, Daddy!"

"Bucky. Can you kindly shut the hell up? I'm trying to talk here, okay?" Steve said sharply. 

Pots and pans started clanging as Barnes started to do the dishes. Brock almost snorted, but Steve took his face in both hands and stared into his eyes.  "You're so used to being in  _control_ , aren't you Brock? You've got no idea how to just give in, how to let us take care of you. Honestly, Brock, do you see the problem here?" 

"You could untie me." Brock said simply, not really bothering to disguise the dangerous flickers in his eyes. "We could talk _then_..." His neck was starting to ache. 

Steve shook his head. "No, I think if you want to be set free, then you should do what the rest of us do." He leaned close and whispered in Brock's ear, his breath tickling the tiny hairs on Brock's neck. "Use... your...  _words_." Then he stood up and left Brock laying on the carpet, going back into the kitchen. 

Brock rubbed his face against the carpet, trying to hold back his tears. Stupid boys. Stupid fucking _everything_. If he safe-worded, then it was all over. It was one thing to walk away without saying anything, to retreat, to fucking escape. It was quite another to _give it all up_. Let the two good things in his life slip through his clumsy fumbling fingers.

He had killed for these boys. That was easy. That was _fun_. 

He swallowed with a dry mouth. Steve walked back to his side and knelt beside him, close enough that Brock could rest his head on Steve's thighs if permitted. Steve held a glass of water with a bent straw close to his lips. "Drink." Steve commanded and Brock obeyed. Just one sip. Then another. "So, what do you say?"

It was easy to be the tough guy. It was  _fun._ His next words were the most difficult things that Brock had ever uttered. "Please. I was a _coward_. I was weak and stupid, trying to run away. Please let me stay. I _love_ _you_ _both_." 

Steve smiled like an angel, set the glass aside, leaned over and kissed Brock on the forehead. "See, that wasn't so hard."

"Like pulling fucking teeth." Barnes leaned against the kitchen doorframe, drying off his hands. "I'm still not untying him." 

"Help him to his knees." Steve ordered Barnes. He neatly rolled up the hem of his skirt and tucked it into his waistband, the naughty thing wasn't wearing hose or underwear. "Gosh, I guess you'll have to do your best with just your mouth then, Brock. You do know how to do this, right? I can teach you if you're feeble." Brock hadn't sucked cock in ages, not since he turned tricks in cars on the street. It was something that other people did to _him_ now. He'd earned that.

But this was _Steve_ rubbing his cock on Brock's lips. His beautiful Steve. He opened wide and took his love deep within his mouth, showing him exactly how well he knew how to perform the act. The skirt came untucked and covered his head like a deep blue curtain or a confessional screen. He licked and sucked, gagging himself as a sort of penance for his misdeeds. The shivers and moans that he extracted from Steve were intoxicating, why hadn't he done this before? Why had he been so selfish and set in his ways? His swollen cock leaked against his stomach and Brock groaned into Steve's pelvis.

Barnes lifted up the fabric of the skirt and said with a wry grin, "Peek-a-boo! I see you! You know, if you ask nicely, I'll jack you off." He crooked his plastic finger under Brock's chin. "Come on pretty princess...  _beg for me."_

Brock pulled his lips off of Steve to sneer defiantly, "Fuck off, Barnes."  _Gonna make you work for it, son._

Barnes dropped the skirt back over Brock's head. "I'm going to untie you now. Don't thrash, you'll hurt Steve. You don't want to hurt Steve, do you?" The plastic hand trailed over Brock's back and the blood rushing back into Brock's arms felt tingly and warm. Steve pushed him down on his hands and knees as Steve knelt as well, not taking his cock out of Brock's mouth for a single moment. It felt good to have his hands back. 

The cold drips of lubrication on his ass crack made Brock shiver. That was something else he hadn't done in ages. Not since that fateful night with Undersecretary Pierce, in fact. Slow circles around his pucker made him groan again and he was so grateful for the concealment of Steve's skirt. Slippery fingers dipped inside him and aching teased. "So are you gonna fuck me or are we going to wait for after the wedding?" Brock growled, impatiently letting Steve pop out of his lips.

Barnes laughed and Brock felt Barnes push inside him, slowly but then with an evil thrust, "So fucking tight, princess!" 

"Call me princess again and I'll break your cock off in my ass." He must love Barnes, he'd be snapping necks right how if anyone else had dared to try this. 

"I... believe you." And Barnes slapped his ass with his hand. "Get back to sucking, that's an order soldier." 

"I bet you've heard  _that_ order before." Brock muttered under the skirt, Steve tittered in response.

Barnes snorted and grabbed his hips harder until eventually Steve shuddered and came down Brock's throat. He knelt down and kissed Brock on the eyelids, the bridge of his nose and then his spit-slicked swollen lips. He reached back to wrap a delicate hand around Brock's cock, stroking gently. "Brock... _Use_ _your_ _words_..." He cooed. 

"Please, please! I need to come! Please let me come!" Brock begged, the whine in his voice unrecognizable to him, but the feelings of Barnes in his ass and Steve's fingers wrapped around his cock was almost too much to bear. "I need you! I need you both!" Barnes slammed hard into him and shot inside. Steve's clever fingers coaxed out an orgasm that ripped through Brock like a freight train.  

Barnes pulled out and Brock fell on his side, panting from sheer exhaustion and cathartic release. The pain  _was_  better with the pleasure. It wasn't just Dom bullshit, he'd never quite understood that. Steve crawled over to Brock and lay in his arms. Barnes grunted and squirmed his way to lay on the other side of Brock's chest. They stayed like that for a long time, listening to the sound of their shared heartbeats. 

Until Steve stopped idly playing with Brock's nipple and tilted his head up, his brows knit as if he'd just remembered something. "Brock?" 

"Hmm?" Brock sleepily muttered.

"What was in the trunk that was so important?" 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

It was funny how such a short question could chill Brock's blood. 

"What was in the trunk that was so important?" Such an innocent question. _Think_ Brock.  _Fucking THINK._ He felt his heart start to race. Barnes was listening to his chest, he stopped twirling his fingers in the hair that ran down from Brock's navel.

Steve's long eyelashes brushed his flushed freckle-dusted cheeks and Brock closed his own eyes in response. He sighed and rolled so that his hip canted up, dislodging a grumpy Barnes from his chest. Brock pointed at the back of his thigh. "Take a look there. What do you see?" This gambit had better work, otherwise, Brock was out of options.

Steve ran his fingers over the scar tissue, gentle fingers. "Dots?  _Oh my god_. Is this the letter P?" His voice was full of shocked horror and outrage. " _Who_ did this to you?" Brock almost felt sorry for the old bastard, Steve was so pissed that the little guy might chew the asshole's ankle off. His concern for such an old wound was touching. 

"An asshole that's getting his fingers broken the next time he tries to shake my new hand at a photo op." Barnes huffed angrily under his breath and stood up, then he walked to the bathroom.

"That is indeed the letter P burnt into my leg with a cigarette." Brock put his arm over his eyes and sighed again, melodramatically. "That's what happened to me the last time I had _anyone_ up my ass." He heard Steve swallow hard and felt his small hand tighten possessively on his thigh. "That's how much I care for you guys. You'd never think it considering my profession, but I haven't been fucked in at least a decade." Brock chewed on his lip. "What I'm trying to say here boys, is that your aftercare is total shit right now. Haven't you learned anything from me? And I'm... I'm feeling a little _vulnerable._ "

That ought to do the  _trick._ If you didn't have a good lie, you might as well deflect and redirect. He _was_ feeling odd though, a bit shaky, but he chalked that up to the adrenaline and post-euphoria of his amazing orgasm. He'd gotten over the whole  _incident_ , he wasn't going to let that fucker have any more control over his life. That's what he told himself, maybe one day he'd be able to listen to that song again.

"Oh _shut_  it, princess." Barnes quipped as he gently cleaned up the dried lube and semen dribbled down Brock's skin with a hot washcloth. "Let's get you in the shower. You smell like a frat house." He helped Brock to his feet, holding him upright as Brock's knees buckled. "Whoa, grandpa! Do you need a walker?" 

Steve scrambled to his feet, "You're shaking, Brock. When was the last time you ate anything?" 

Brock blinked, genuinely unable to remember. He'd been lost in his own depressive spiral of self-pity and might have forgotten to eat at all.  "Other than what you just fed me? I don't know?" He smirked and then stumbled as his vision doubled. 

Steve frowned, all thoughts of investigating the trunk incident lost amidst his concern for Brock. It was adorable. It felt weird to be doted upon, to be the one that needed caring for. "Get him on the bed, I'll get some juice and some food. Dinner in bed, how does that sound?"

"Don't burn the kitchen down!" Brock said and Steve flipped him off with a smile, even in his haste to get to the refrigerator. 

"You weigh a ton, Brock. Come on, clean up on aisle seven." Barnes chuckled at his joke and kissed Brock on his stubbled cheek. "You're such a pain in my ass."

"Hey, that's _my_ line. So, I guess you didn't tell Steve about my... little incident with the Undersecretary?" Brock asked Bucky as they carefully navigated to Brock's bedroom. Barnes smelled like sweat and sweet shampoo, Brock leaned into him and waited. 

Barnes sighed, "Incident? Dude, he fucking _raped_ you. I figured that if you wanted to let Steve know, you would have told him yourself. Somethings are meant to be private, kept between two people. Also, I can keep a secret, Brock. And I'm not _fucking_ stupid." Barnes sat him down on the bed and inspected him carefully, running his hands up and down Brock's scarred body. "Really, I just hope you covered your tracks."

Barnes grunted, "Looks like I didn't do any permanent damage, that flogger is really hard to aim. Do you want an ice pack and some pain pills for your ass cheeks? Flip over, I wanna see you."  

"I don't know what you're talking about." Brock slowly stretched out on the bed, Barnes' hands kneaded and prodded but the tenseness in Brock's body had nothing to do with their session.

"Of course, you don't. I never thought you'd consent to being my pretty princess, my sweet little thing. But here we are and we've both done things we never thought that we would. We're not that different Brock. Nobody ever gets a blue ribbon for being the most fucked up person in a relationship. There better not be blood evidence in my car's trunk, okay?" Barnes straddled Brock and put him in a very familiar submission hold, then he whispered into Brock's ear, "I heard every word you said to me when you drugged me, asshole. _You killed Jasper_. Didn't you?"

Brock froze and said in a strangled whine, " _Pistachio_." 

Barnes laughed and hissed, "Oh, that doesn't work right now and you know it. I would have helped you finish him, no matter how many more nightmares I had. Some things are _worth_ the cost. Actually, I'm having a massive case of deja vu here." Barnes released Brock and slapped him on his bruised, reddened ass. Brock grunted in pain and Steve walked in carrying a glass of orange juice with two blue bendy straws. "Sit up, old man. Take your medicine."

Steve frowned at Bucky, "Really? Really Bucky? Wrestling now?" Steve tutted over Brock, "Come on sweetheart, take a few sips." Steve held the glass steady and put a skinny arm around Brock's shoulders. "You were so very good. Such a dear. Thank you." 

"Hmph. He was still being uncooperative." Barnes shrugged, reached over and threaded his finger through the D-ring on the collar about Brock's neck. "We're not done here. Not by a long shot." Barnes stroked the side of Brock's face and laid down his head in Brock's naked lap, soft brown hair tickling Brock's inner thighs, "Are we darling?" He looked up and smiled a wolf-like grin as Steve kissed the side of Brock's cheek. 

Brock swallowed the suddenly tasteless juice. "Nope. I guess we're not." And a thrill ran up Brock's jaded spine in anticipation of what was to come.   

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

"Why do I have to come along for this?" Brock stretched out his legs and admired the shine on his expensive shoes. "I mean, I've got better taste than both of you, but this seems like something the two of you would rather inflict upon each other." 

Barnes pulled his hair back into a messy tail and wrapped an elastic about it. His black arm looked striking and alien against the mundanity of his blue polo shirt. The tiny servo motors were a barely audible hum in the quiet of the room. "Because Steve said so. And I need someone to share the pain." He shot a rubber band at Brock with a cheeky grin. "You've gotten so _good_ at that lately." 

Brock snagged the rubber band out of the air. " _Pfft_. I'm good at _everything_ I do." Neither of them were wearing the collar right now. It sat on the dresser just waiting for one of them to choose to put it on. Brock walked up behind Barnes and smoothed his hair, pulling on the tail gently. He kissed the lobe of Barnes' ear and snuck a kiss into the hollow there. 

Barnes watched him in the mirror and held up his prosthetic hand, he wriggled the fingers. "I can look at you during the whole thing and think about the way you begged for me to jack you off with this last night. Got some sort of robot fetish, Old Man?"

Brock took his plastic hand and put one finger between his lips, slowly running his tongue over the tip then sucking on on the waterproofed plastic and metal. He stared back into the mirror at Barnes who was flushing beautifully. Blushes on beautiful boys, they kept him young.

 _I've still got it_ , Brock thought to himself. 

"I think I'll like it even better when I'm ordering you to finger yourself with it." Brock whispered into Barnes' ear, "Slow and deep, maybe I'll film you and make you watch it. You like watching yourself be bad, don't you? Just give in to me and let me take you. Pretty pet..." Maybe he could get out of this commitment if he was persuasive enough. 

Barnes shook his head as if to clear his head of a fog. "Oh, we're not going back to you giving the orders just yet, pumpkin. You've got a lot more penance to do." But he didn't push Brock away, he leaned in _closer_.

Funny, Brock had only thought of Barnes as a distraction, a complication to his relationship with Steve at the beginning. That thought was very distant now and rang hollow.  " _Pumpkin_?" Brock sneered, unable to simply enjoy the moment of intimacy, "So, you're not going to turn me in then?" Never hurt to ask, might need to know just in case... 

Barnes looked at the floor and bit his lip. "What? No. Of course not. You just had the balls to do what I couldn't. This was a one off, right? You're not stacking people up in a storage unit, are you?" Barnes caught his gaze in the mirror and Brock was the first one to break away. 

"It's better that you don't know the details." He pulled away and Barnes scoffed, then grabbed at Brock's hand. 

"That was neither a confirmation nor a denial.  _Creepy_." Barnes straightened Brock's collar, dusted off his shoulders and tucked his plastic finger underneath Brock's chin. "Tell me at least this much, did they all deserve it?" 

"If I made the call, then  _yes._ " Every single  _fucking_ one of them. Brock didn't prey on anyone that wasn't asking for it. That wasn't any  _fun._ Sure they begged or their lives, but that just made it  _sweeter._ He did have a code to follow, when there weren't an orders from on high.

"And I'm guessing from your behavior at the bar that night, that they might have been bothering your coworkers?" Sharp kid. 

"Not everyone minds their manners around us. Sometimes they needed to be taught a lesson. The girls needed me. It felt good to be needed. To protect someone." Why he said that, he didn't know, but it was the truth. For once. Fuck it, might as well spill his guts. "I like doing things to protect people. The only thing I worry about is losing you and Steve. And you fucking know that. That's why you're doing this punishment thing." 

"So, you're only playing along because you think I'll dump you if you don't?" Barnes' lips ghosted against his jawline making his heart leap in his chest.

"Well, maybe." Brock whispered, swallowing his heart back down. 

"You're so fucking dense, Brock. Good thing you're gorgeous." An impatient honk sounded outside. "Steve's in a hurry. Come on, this is all really your fault, you know. I could have put this whole marriage thing off for another decade, but _noooo_. You had to force my hand. Made me propose in front of everybody." Barnes grabbed a handful of Brock's ass, creasing his suit pants as he pushed him out the door towards the waiting hybrid.

"Serves you right. Ruined my scene." How bad could it be? Weddings were supposed to be fun, _right_? 

++

Three hours later.  

"Kill. Me. **Now**." Brock hissed into Barnes' ear after the wedding coordinator tried to talk Steve into Hawaiian catering for the fifth time. There was too much tulle and florist tape for his tastes. He'd lost track of all the ways mason jars could be used for centerpieces and party favors.

Just have an open bar and hire a classic rock cover band, it was that simple. There was no need for all this... this... frou-frou nonsense. Candles, bows and miles of ribbons. How many more weeks of this was he going to have to endure? " _Please_. You can strangle me with my shoelace. Right here." 

Barnes chuckled. "Didn't I already say something about _penance_? Gotta clean out your ears grandpa." He walked over to Steve who was refusing to back down from his original estimate and concept. He put his hands on Steve's squared shoulders, Steve was already starting to wheeze a bit. "Sweetheart? Maybe we should sleep on it. Look at things with fresh eyes. Besides, I think we broke Brock."

Steve looked back at Brock who nodded empathetically with wide eyes. "Okay Janice. I'll email you later. But I just don't think that chocolate fountains are sanitary." 

"Take care Janice." Barnes said to the wedding coordinator and steered Steve out the door by his shoulders.

"What's wrong with a cover band and an open bar?" Brock picked up the binders of printed out ideas that Steve left on the chair, Brock might not care but Steve did. "Throw the rice and you're done!" He grumbled.

"We don't use rice, it's bad for the birds." The woman looked at him thoughtfully and said, "So you're the Best Man then?" 

Brock tilted his head, "I am." He'd never thought of it that way before. The title felt good.

"Have you given serious consideration as to your duties at this wedding?" She tapped her fingers on the desk. 

Brock pursed his lips and shifted his load of binders into one arm. He said, "I plan the bachelor party and make sure no one loses the rings. Then I bang a few bridesmaids and make sure no one pukes in the punchbowl. Got it." 

"There are no bridesmaids in the party, Mr. Rumlow. In fact, you have to perform the Maid of Honor's duties as well. You should make sure that Mr. Rogers doesn't become too stressed with his planning. Can you do that?" She raised an eyebrow at the the predatory grin on Brock's face. 

"Oh, I can take care of Steve. Nobody can make him relax as well as I can. Don't you worry about that, ma'am." He winked at Janice who flushed nearly as bright as one of his boys.  _I've still got it._ "Till next time then." She nodded and started shuffling papers. 

Barnes was leaning against the car, Steve kicking at the ground in frustration. "You should have told me  _before_ Bucky! Now I have to change everything around. Seriously, you have no idea how you have fucked this up!" 

Barnes shrugged, "SHIELD offered to pay for it. They wanted to use it for publicity and I thought, well if they were gonna pay for it that you'd be down for that. It's only a hundred or so more people..."

"A HUNDRED MORE PEOPLE!?" Steve's voice cracked. 

"Maybe two hundred? They weren't very specific." Barnes had the good grace to look ashamed. Brock smiled at his discomfort, cocky little brat deserved it. "But, we've just started and we can change things, right babe? Right?"

Steve didn't answer, he was sucking on an inhaler. 

"You. Drive!" Brock barked at Barnes with his best imperative command. He'd dealt with enough clusterfucks in his day to know when someone needed to take control and really, that was what he did best. He opened the door for a wheezing Steve. "You. Get in the back!" Steve obeyed, put on his seatbelt and Brock piled the binders in his lap. Brock got in the back as well. "Drive. And keep your mouth shut! Not a single word, got it?" Barnes watched him in the rearview mirror and nodded, wordlessly. _Good_.

Brock reached over and combed his fingers through Steve's blonde hair, running his nails over Steve's scalp over and over. His body shook from the inhaler, jittery as if he'd drank three pots of coffee. Poor baby. Poor pretty perfect boy. "Shh. It will be fine. I will make it be fine." 

"But--!" Brock silenced the protest with his fingers against Steve's lips. Barnes pulled the car out into traffic.

"No. None of that. Not now. What's your safe word?" The silent cabin of the hybrid made his words and his challenge unmistakable.

Steve's eyes widened. " _Brooklyn_."

He leaned into Brock's touch, compliant and already calming down. Brock slipped his fingertips in between Steve's pink lips and smiled as Steve suckled upon them. Brock caressed Steve's face and drew a trail of spit down Steve's nose, then kissed him forcefully with rough lips. "Good boy. Look at all that nervous energy. You need something to do." He picked up the binders and tossed them one by one into the passenger seat. "There." He grabbed Steve's hand and put it on his thickening cock. "I think I have something here that can soothe you." There was a dinging alarm as Steve unbuckled his seatbelt.

Barnes shoulders shook as if he was suppressing laughter, but he didn't make a sound and stared straight ahead, merging on to the freeway. 

Steve leaned over, half in a daze from the stress and his deep-rooted need to comply, he rubbed his face upon Brock's trousers. Brock enjoyed the view and the pressure, then said, "Undo it. Now." Steve's clever fingers unleashed Brock and Brock wound his fingers in Steve's hair, gripping and controlling. Steve mewled as he took Brock inside his mouth and Brock canted up his hips, pushing in deep. "No, no, no. You don't get to decide how _fast_ ," A thrust, "Or _slow_." Another. "Or _deep_ you take me." He pulled Steve off his cock with a sloppy wet pop. "No decisions for you. You're  _my_ plaything. All mine." 

Steve nodded, "I understand, Daddy. I'm your toy," he whimpered with Brock's cock against his lips. "I was made to be used by you." Brock groaned, nearly coming from those words alone. 

"Don't you spill a drop on my pants or you'll regret it when we get home." Brock purred with menace. "Now open those pretty lips, I feel like fucking your throat." Probably not the best idea for someone in the middle of an asthma attack, but that inhaler worked fast. Brock shrugged inwardly while he timed his thrusts with Steve's gasps for air. It just felt too damn good to have Steve's lips stretched tight around him to worry about taking too long. "Goood boy. Take it all darling. That's-- it!"

Steve swallowed as Brock spasmed. Panting, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Brock with limpid blue eyes. Brock kissed him sweetly and petted his hair. "My sweet thing, you did so well. You'll be rewarded when we get home." Steve put on his seatbelt, the dinging alarm finally ceased. 

Steve blinked and looked out the window. "Bucky? I think we might have missed our exit." 

"Did we? I wasn't--- _Fuck_!" Barnes cursed. "Stop distracting the driver, you assholes!" 

Brock chuckled as he tucked himself back into his pants. He took his duties  _very_ seriously indeed.

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

Brock shut the door to his immaculate room and adjusted the lighting. It was the little touches that screamed quality in a production like this. His navy suit was pressed, the crisp white shirt starched and his cufflinks flashed in the directed light. He fiddled with the camera, getting the angle just right. There. He hadn't uploaded a video in a while and the clients were restless. 

He wasn't totally using this as an excuse for escaping wedding planning duties, not totally. But if he had to tie one more tulle birdseed packet he might blow his brains out. The tiny satin ribbons were more stubborn than any of his guns were to clean. His teeth flashed white as he smiled at himself on the laptop screen. Looking good, like always, he tightened his red silk tie.  

There was a soft knock on the door. Brock rolled his eyes. "I'll be out when I'm done. I'm working damn it!" 

The door opened regardlessly and Barnes slipped into the room. He leaned against the door, his eyes wide. "I'm not here. You never saw me." He put a finger to his lips. 

"Pissed off Steve again, did you?" Brock chuckled and sat in his red leather armchair, scrutinizing the angle and patting his hair into place. He licked his lips, watching himself in the laptop screen. Honestly, he got off more on watching himself perform than the idea of anyone else watching. Hot stuff, just like always. 

"How the hell was I supposed to know the difference between  _ivory_ and  _ecru_? Steve is totally on edge getting all this crap done before he has to go to that conference." Barnes sat on the bed and folded his pajama clad legs underneath him. "I was just trying to help and he banished me! _Banished_! In my own house!" 

"You're so  _gauche,_ Barnes. And no, you can't hide in here. I'm _working_." Brock wasn't ready to retire just yet. He liked his chosen profession and he could be very picky now. The daddy angle was quite comfortable for him now. "You know I'm working."

"You won't even know I'm here. I'll just sit on the bed and be quiet. Really." Bucky blinked his big blue eyes and leaned back against the headboard. "Honest Brock, I'll be good. Cross my heart." 

Brock held up a hand, "The first distraction and you're out of here. Back to planning reception seating charts. You hear me, Barnes?" The young man nodded and pantomimed zipping his lips tight. 

Brock tried to put his audience out of his mind. He had a performance to do. Clicked the RECORD button. He propped his arms on the red leather arms of his chair and clasped his hands. He looked into the camera lens and said in a voice that promised endless variations of pleasure and pain. "Hey there. It's been a long time, hasn't it?  You missed me?"

He leaned forward and touched his lower lip with the tips of his fingers. "I bet you have. Filthy thing. Missing my guidance? It's so much easier when you just lean back--" Brock leaned forward letting the camera focus on his face, slowly dragging his gaze up as if he were staring at a real person. That was a mistake, because Barnes was there, catching his eyes, flushed red and grinning. "Lean back. And _submit_." 

He unzipped his fly and pulled himself out. This was a jack off video after all. He lazily massaged himself, running his free hand up his suit-clad thigh, dragging his fingernails against the worsted wool. "I bet you've been thinking about me slapping this across your face." Barnes nodded in the dark. He knelt on the edge of the bed, pulled off his shirt and did a slow bump and grind. He palmed his crotch and licked each one of his plastic fingers until they glistened. Brock tried to keep his composure. "Practically drooling for it... See how hard you make me?" He canted his hips up to display his impressive erection off, he was harder than he'd ever been performing by himself. 

Barnes whispered, "Oh  _fuck me."_ It was loud enough for the mic to pick up and fouled the whole shoot. 

"You said you'd be _quiet_. Alright, you're out of here, Barnes!" Brock pointed with his thumb towards the door. "Gotta fix this whole fucking thing now. I don't come to your work and try to fuck up your aim, do I? Show me a little respect, you jackass." Genuinely peeved, Brock knocked over the bottle of lube on the side table. Good thing it was still capped. 

Barnes chewed on his lip and looked at the floor. "Please. I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. You just, you just looked so _good._ Please don't make me go back in there." The yearning plea sparked something mean and hungry deep in Brock's groin, it curled around the base of his dick. 

"Oh yeah?" Brock looked over at the collar on his dresser, pointedly. The challenge in his voice was clear.

Barnes got off the bed and retrieved the collar. He knelt on the floor in front of Brock, careful to not touch the cam setup. He put on the collar with a reverence usually reserved for something sacred, rather than profane.

Brock smiled with tight lips and asked, "What's your safe-word, _pet_?" Oh, he'd been waiting for this. Fuck the video, he was self-employed and that was one of the perks.

Barnes was already panting a bit, staring at Brock as he sat in his red leather throne, cock hard and ready. " _Tourniquet_." He licked his lips and tried to move forward, anxious to taste Brock. Brock lazily reached out and wound his fingers in Barnes' hair, twirling it until he seized it in his fist. Bucky gasped and leaned into Brock's grasp, creeping closer to kneel between Brock's legs. 

Brock glanced up at the red recording light on the camera and Barnes asked in a breathy whisper, "Should I turn off the camera?" 

Brock leaned closer and hissed in Barnes' ear, "That's not your call now, puppy. You were putting on a show, weren't you?" Brock chuckled. "Displaying yourself like a whore." He tapped Barnes' nose with his fingers, punctuating each syllable. "Just. Like. Me." He gripped Barnes' chin. "I'm touched. You wanna be like your Daddy?" 

Barnes closed his eyes and nodded, the movement pushing his stubble into Brock's fingertips. Brock swallowed and let go of Barnes' hair, combing silky strands back from his face.

"Beautiful boy. Shed those pants." Barnes shimmied out of the flimsy fabric and kicked it off his ankle. He knelt in perfect obedience between Brock's legs and parted his moist lips in anticipation. Brock was tempted to shove his cock in between those pink lips and gag Barnes on it, but he pulled Barnes close with a firm hand on the back of his head then lightly smacked Barnes' cheeks with his hard cock instead. 

"No. I don't want your mouth. Not _yet_." Brock shook his head. "Get up here. That's it. Straddle me." Barnes climbed up and obeyed, Brock snuck a look at the screen and grinned.  "Spread yourself. Everyone can see your hole, that winking little pucker." Barnes flushed a brilliant red and hid his face against Brock's shoulder in shame. Brock was so hard, he _ached_. 

"Get it nice and wet, that's right. Slobbery, sloppy puppy." Brock pushed Barnes' plastic fingers into Barnes' mouth, he sucked on the mechanical digits while staring into Brock's hooded eyes. "Slide a finger on in. Another." Brock watched the screen as Barnes wriggled his fingers up inside himself, his breathing hot and harsh in Brock's ears. "Look at how _easy_ you take it, such a tight little bottom." He plucked the lube bottle off the side table and drizzled it down the plastic fingers that Barnes offered him. "Want my cock in you? Stretching you out, nice and tight? Haven't fucked you in ages, my sweet puppy. That's it, work it in."

Barnes moaned, balancing himself with his real arm on the leather chair while working his prosthetic fingers in his ass, the servo motors whining as he pushed them in.   

"Answer me!" Brock barked out. 

"Ye--yes!" Barnes meekly squeaked out. His fingers left trails of lube on the skin of his thighs and asscheeks.

Brock planted his palm in the center of Barnes' chest and not dropping his eye contact, pushed Barnes off of his lap and onto the floor. "Puppies belong on the floor. Not on the furniture. Better show me what a good little cocksucker you are, I think I've forgotten."

That was a mistake. Barnes' blue eyes peering up at Brock as he lavished his cock with the flat of his tongue and clever twists of his lips was too good, too sweet. Again, Brock pushed Barnes off him, planted his booted foot against his chest and sneered.  "Not good enough. What a fucking disappointment."

A glimmer of hurt flickered across Barnes' face, then disappeared behind a slight smirk of defiance. Barnes licked a stripe up the side of Brock's shiny boot and looked up at Brock for permission. Brock nodded, suddenly breathless. Barnes decorated the black patent leather with a series of wet kisses, treating it as if it were Brock's cock. Oh fucking hell, Brock was going to cum if he kept doing that especially when he looked up into Brock's eyes and whimpered. _Kinky little shit_. 

Brock whispered, "There's my good boy." He took a moment to retain his composure. "Now get up here. Ride me hard." His suit was going to be a lost cause after this, he thought absently. The red dot on the camera made him redouble his will. He gritted his teeth as Barnes sat on his lap facing the camera lowing himself onto Brock's painfully hard cock. He gripped the back of Barnes' neck and made the young man look at the camera. 

"Everyone can see you now. Riding me. Fucking you so sweet. The pride of SHIELD, what would they all say if they saw you like this? I should make you wear that shiny medal around your neck, see it bounce up and down, slapping against your chest as I slap into you. " Barnes braced himself with his arms on the armrests of the chair and rode Brock gasping for breath. Brock wasn't going to last long if he looked at Barnes' sweaty, debauched face in the screen, so he nipped at the soft flesh of Barnes' shoulder, kneaded it with his teeth. "That's it. So good my dirty love. That's _right,"_ he cooed. 

"Jesus Christ Brock. Please. Please!" Barnes begged, "Please!" Brock reached around and grabbed Barnes' cock, it only took a few pumps before Barnes shuddered and came, spurting against his chest and Brock's fist. Brock sunk his teeth into the scar tissue on Barnes' shoulder as his vision swam from the intensity of his own orgasm, he clutched Barnes tightly. 

When they both had caught their breath, Barnes limply gestured to the camera. "So the whole thing recorded?" 

Brock kissed the side of Barnes' face. "Yep. Wanna watch it?" 

"Maybe later. I'm tired of seeing myself on television." Barnes looked at his sticky prosthetic hand and grimaced. "We should send it to Steve when he goes to that conference. He'll lose it. Shower time for me. Want a washcloth?"

Brock nodded and leaned his head back. Jesus Christ, too bad he couldn't upload that. He'd make bank if he sold it to a porn company. He turned off the camera and saved the file. But he wouldn't do that, Barnes was  _all_ his and his possessive streak was a lot stronger than his greed.

He smiled as Barnes handed him a warm wet washcloth to clean up. "Speaking of our pissy bride," Brock tucked himself away, tossed the washcloth in a hamper and peeked out of his bedroom door. "He's passed out at the table. Be right back."

He smoothed Steve's blonde hair back from his face and smiled indulgently at the way Steve had drooled on the kitchen table. He scooped up Steve into his arms and brought him back to his bedroom. Steve curled under the blankets like a kitten and Brock kissed his forehead. Brock stripped out of his suit and neatly folded everything away. 

Barnes came out of the bathroom and opened his mouth, but Brock shushed him in a hushed tone. " _Shh_. That's an order. He's so beautiful, isn't he?" Brock flipped off the lights. 

Barnes shrugged, "He's got his good points. Stubborn as hell and good as gold." He leaned into Brock's arms in the dark, feeling so solid and sweet there.

"Too good for us, huh?" Brock whispered into his ear, kissing the hollow beneath Barnes' ear. 

"Yep. But don't worry. Even bad puppies deserve treats now and then, right?" Barnes led Brock to the bed, by the hand. "I get to be the little spoon. I licked your nasty boot." He made a muffled retching noise.

"Shut the fuck up, James." Brock rumbled and climbed in beneath the covers. "Or I'll tie your hair into pigtails next time. Sleepy time."

"Pigtails or fuck handles? Love you too Brock." Barnes yawned as Brock pulled him close. Steve started to snore.

Life was pretty fucking great, Brock thought, and he didn't even have to make any more wedding favors that night. Yep, pretty fucking great. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, what did you think? *fans self!*


End file.
